A Broken Poem
by achildofthestars
Summary: HouseCam. Last chapter. This is the truth. This is him proving himself wrong when he'd told her long ago that they would never weather the storm. And for once, he could care less.
1. I never told you that I loved you

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. But it wasn't why you cared. I never told you why I lied. Nothing would ever change. I never told you that you were my life. Something I treasured above all others. I never told you that I loved you. You, and no one else. I never told you any of these things. Because you were all I had._

_I never told you that I loved you._

He watches her wash her hands in the stainless steel sink. Picking up his glass of water, he downs two of his vicodin and swallows them with a gulp. Setting it back on the counter, she doesn't even glance his way. Instead, she reaches for the ordinary green towel and starts to dry her hands.

He's tired this morning. The pain in his leg has been growing each day of the week, and now on this Saturday, he is home. And in his home is her.

She lays down the towel with a sigh and leans back against the sink. She thinks he looks worse today than any other day this week. They had been working at the hospital today because Cuddy had a case for them. It being a Saturday, she figured he wouldn't show. But he did. She knew that the pain was there. She could see it in the way he hobbled slower and softly than before. She saw it in the way he never walked unless he had too. She sees it now in the lines that crease his face.

He is glad Cuddy forced him to come home, even though she'd been the one to make him go in the first place. Falling in the middle of the hall must have given her a clue that he shouldn't have been there, especially on the weekend. The case hadn't been all that hard to solve, but it had given him something to do. It gave him something to think of instead of the pain that was controlling him.

House slumps forward and puts his elbows on the table top.

She sighs and doesn't know what to do now. She had offered to take him home, and when they'd got here, she'd been the one helping him to walk. Even with the countless number of pills he took, the pain was still too much. He had fallen asleep and she had stayed here. She cleaned. She cooked a small dinner for him. And she looked. With hesitation at first, but then confidently as she heard him snore.

"You snore."

He wonders where that comes from, but decides it doesn't matter.

"You clean."

He motions to the kitchen and his living room. He has never seen this place spotless before. And he has to admit, it frightens him. Not because it's something new and foreign, but because it reminds him of how empty it is.

"Are you okay?"

He wants to say no. He's in pain. Horrible, awful, pain and he knows it won't go away. It's the kind of pain that only comes every now and then, and he knows it will pass, but for right now, it's too much.

"Why do you care?"

And why does she? She doesn't know. There is no reason for her to care for this man with the way he has treated her. But she does. And she has stopped asking herself why long ago.

"I was just being nice."

Well, of course, he thinks. She is always trying to be nice and courteous. She's always trying to do the right thing. This was his Cameron.

"Being nice kills, you know?"

She wants to smile, and so lets the corners of her lips flip slightly up for just a brief moment.

"Then you'll be alive a long, long time, Dr. House."

It wasn't a strong comeback, he admits, but at least it was one. It was more than he would have gotten out of her when she first started working with him.

"And hopefully with no nice people. Maybe your species will have died out by then."

She knows he's not trying. Usually, he was ruder.

"What will you do without Wilson?"

"You don't really think he's a good guy do you? Look at his track record."

He wonders why she's stalling. She keeps looking at her watch, but doesn't make a move to leave.

"I'm guess I'm going home, then."

"Off you go to rearrange your teddy bears then."

He watches her grab her coat and purse before pausing at the door to turn around. He makes sure not to look at her, even though she's looking at him. When he hears the door close, he lets out a breath. She is too nice. She is too caring. And he is not nice. And he is not too caring, either.

With a big sigh, he slides from the stool and grabs his cane. By the time he makes it to his couch, he's too tired to stay awake any longer. The last thought that graces his mind, is that of _her_. He remembers the last time he let someone in. It was her who took his life from him. It was her that he dreamt about. And it was her that he blamed. But it was her who had shown him that everyone would leave him in the end. And it was her that made him tell himself that no other woman would ever hurt him again.

**A/N: Well, this was done in a sort of serious mood that found me. I have a fun fic, and I guess some part of me needed a counterbalance. lol. Anyways, there's more to come if any of you want it. Thanks.**


	2. That was my biggest mistake

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake._

The door is open. Well, it's unlocked. Wilson takes a deep breath, and pushes it open so that he can walk in. He's a little surprised at how spotless the place is, but he knows he has Cameron to thank for that. With a gentle click, the door closes behind him and he looks at his best friend.

The afghan is thrown over his face, his feet bare and sticking over the end of the couch. He shrugs off his coat and sits down on the chair beside the couch. After a few minutes, he leans back and makes himself comfortable while flipping through a magazine.

"I know you're awake."

There's silence.

"You're going to get sick if you keep your feet hanging in the cold like that."

"Sometimes…I know you're a woman," he mutters.

Wilson rolls his eyes.

"Can we cut this short? I've got a date."

"Date? Who would date you?"

"An amazingly, attractive, sexy, woman."

"Lesbian."

"Jealous?"

"Obviously."

"Ha. Okay, House. How's it going?"

House throws the afghan off his face and looks at Wilson.

"How do you think it's going?"

It's a stupid question, he knows. From the look on House's face, he knows that the pain is coming in spades now. For the first time that day, he feels a little guilty. He must have seen it on his face.

"Why do you look like you just forgot to feed a starving kid?"

"House, I just came over to make sure you're fine."

It doesn't take him long to figure it out. Cameron must have told him to check up on him. She always was the worrier.

"I'm fine. Who's the date?"

"You don't look fine and no one you know."

"I'm fine. Tell me who it is."

"I told you. Maybe you should go back to sleep, you look pale."

"I'm in fucking pain! What do expect me to look like? Brad Pitt? Well I'm sorry if I just don't care if my hair is combed to perfection like yours!"

"Calm down, House."

Wilson sighs and leans his elbows on his knees before looking back up.

"Maybe you should take a few days off. You've been hurting like this for awhile."

"I don't need any days off," he grumbles as he closes his eyes.

"Well you can't go to work with this kind of pain. You won't be good to anybody like this. Hell, you're not even good for yourself right now."

House closes his eyes and just wishes his newly acquired headache would just go away. He has enough pain as it is. And Jimmy is not making things better.

"I just want to be by myself, okay? I don't want your sympathy considering it makes me want to throw my head in the oven. And then you would have that on your conscience, which would in turn make you cry. And you know I hate it when you cry."

"Fine," Wilson says as he stands, wondering if a conversation would ever happen between the two of them that didn't involve House making fun of him somehow.

Grabbing his coat, he looks back at the figure that has retreated back under the afghan. He opens the door, fully intending to walk out, but stops himself with one hand on the door frame. Without turning around, he says, "It's Cameron, House. That's who it is," and then he walks out, not wanting to know if he stirred or not.

He blinks underneath the afghan. Without even knowing it, he clenches a fist. It doesn't bother him. Not one bit. It doesn't bother him that his best friend is going on a date with his employee. He grimaces as the pain comes in another wave and he is nearly left breathless. Damn it, he thinks as he throws the afghan to the floor and reaches for his bottle of pills.

Instead, in his haste, he manages to push the bottle instead of grabbing it. It falls from the edge of the table to the floor, spewing the white pills along the floor.

House pounds his fist on the table with enough force that it momentarily makes him forget about his thigh pain. It was a stupid thing to do, he knows. Scrounging on the floor, he finds two pills and swallows them greedily before filling his glass with more scotch that finds its way down his throat as well. He has bigger things to worry about other than if Wilson get's laid tonight, and with whom. At least, that's what he tries to tell himself.

**A/N: Wow, just realized how much of a downer that first poem was. Man. lol. Anyways.**


	3. I never told you that I see you

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you._

He sits with his legs on his desk, listening to the music from his i-pod with the room darkly lit. He's been in here for the past three hours and no one had dared enter before now. At the knock, he turns his head before turning the volume up even more. He watches as the knob tries to turn, but he's already locked it.

An hour later, House sits up to massage his thigh. Taking his earphones out, he hears another knock, and then her voice. At the sound of her voice, he wants to throw everything breakable at that door. Instead, he continues to massage his leg and continues to ignore the knocking.

By three o'clock, she's sitting against the door. Every now and then, someone walks in, asking her why she's on the floor, and she tells them that House is inside and won't come out. It's a good enough excuse for everyone. Even for her. She closes her eyes and leans her head against the door before getting up to sit at the table. The blinds are closed, so she can't see in, but she sits in her chair and looks at them anyways.

She sighs and holds her head in her hands. She doesn't know why she's doing this. He's already told her no before, so why can't she let go? Everything that has led her here, is telling her to leave him alone. He's not a man easily loved, and certainly he doesn't want hers. Her mind drifts to her date Saturday, but she can't even think to smile. James is a good man. He's kind, funny, and nice, but she knows that he's got his own demons. Maybe that's why she needs him. Slamming her hand down on the table, she wonders how House always manages to creep into her thoughts before telling herself that House has no relationship advice she wants.

He walks in at one point, but she doesn't pay him mind at first. He's also looking at the locked door and doesn't say anything to her for the longest time.

"How long has he been in there," he finally asks.

"All day," she replies with a sigh.

Wilson shakes his head and finally looks at her. She's beautiful, he thinks. Saturday night, she had been stunning. Her laugh was even gorgeous. With a cough, he turns around and walks out without saying anything else to her. He knows House feels something for her, even if it's just a twinge of feeling. A twinge is still something. But he'd blown his chance with her long ago, and that was his entire fault.

He throws his bag over his shoulder and walks out of the office for the second time that day. He's not prepared to see her walking into the conference room. She looks at him with a question in her eyes and a question on her lips, but she stays silent. A few steps are all that separate him from her, and all he can think about is that he doesn't want to see her.

"You finally came out."

"No," he says gruffly, limping past her.

"House, are you sure you can make it home?"

"Cameron, go be Wilson's worrywart. I'm sure after your date you've shown him your wily ways to keep a man entertained. That should keep you busy and leave me alone."

She exhales sharply and grabs him arm, causing him to lose his balance and she pulls him to her before he can fall. With a jerk, he straightens up and glares at her.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, I'm just warming up for when Candy comes by later and shows me the tricks she taught you for your boy toy Wilson."

"I'm not a slut."

"You sleep with Wilson, Chase, your dead husband's best-."

The slap resounds in the hallway. The nurses can't help but stare while the patients can't help but look away.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly and she stares at the mark against his left cheek. She'd lost her composure, but for right now, she doesn't care about it. She ignores the stares and looks into those blue eyes that have forever mocked her.

He can feel the sting and stares at her. For a moment, the pain in his leg is gone and all he can think of is kissing her to show her how much he needs someone.

She watches as a muscle in his cheek twitches before he turns around and limps heavily down the hallway to the elevators. For once, she wishes he wasn't an ass. For once, she wishes that what he says doesn't mean anything. She sees him nearly everyday, and for once, she wishes she'd never seen him at all.

**Well, thanks you 3 guys for reviewing. lol. maybe i should just let this die.**


	4. I see you even when I'm not awake

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake._

Alone in his bed, he stares at the ceiling. He breaks his gaze long enough to glance down at his right thigh and throws the blanket over to his hip so he won't have to look at it. The scar. The emptiness. The horror. House scratches his bare chest lazily before returning it back under his head to begin his staring contest with the ceiling once more.

His face still stings. Although he won't admit it aloud, he knows that it was a step too far. It was a step he shouldn't have taken, and wishes he could take back. He remembers the look on her face, the look in her eyes, as he stared at her. It wasn't love, it wasn't compassion, it wasn't pity, and it wasn't even anger. It was apathy. With that step too far, he had shown her that he didn't care. And she had shown him, that neither did she. Her actions had spoken of anger, but her gaze, her gaze had given up. She had given up on him.

For a man who didn't want to be in love, he found himself in a predicament. He realized he was staring at the ceiling because of a woman. A woman he didn't even like. A woman he didn't love. A woman who had one finger around him, and that concerned him. No one had been able to touch him for years. But there she was. Only three years knowing him, and she had a small claim to him.

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Alone in her bed, she stares at the wall. Lying on her side, she brings her hand forward to stare at. The same hand had held her husband's dying one, had held a row of flowers, had written thousands of notes, and had slapped the one man that she couldn't get out of her system. Instead of keeping it in her sight, she draws up her blanket so that only her chin is exposed and begins her staring contest with the monotonous wall again.

Her mind can't get over his words. Did he really think that of her? She had never known until now, how much of a child he was. She hadn't wanted to see how hurtful and spiteful he was, just because of his own physical pain. He saved lives without thinking of consequences, blurring the lines of ethics, but he always did it to save someone. She had found that heroic at one point, but not anymore. Now, she sees him as a man wanting to control everything. Control. That's what he wants, she thinks.

A tear falls down and she quickly wipes it away. It shouldn't hurt like it does, but for some reason, she can't help it. A part of her knew that he was just in pain. A part of her knew though, that he had said it purposely. She can't forgive that. She can't even begin to understand it. To think that he thinks of her like that, is crushing.

"Damn him," she says to no one but her ghosts.

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He closes his eyes and tells himself it doesn't matter. He tells himself that he doesn't care what she thinks of him, and he doesn't. He's never cared before, and he doesn't care now. After a few minutes, he can feel his body relax and sleep begins to overcome him.

She finally finds her eyes closing and surrenders to sleep. She doesn't want to dream of him. She doesn't want to see him. Her hate for him is there. Her love for him is fading. All this she thinks to herself before everything becomes dark.

The first thing he sees is her. Her green eyes are cold and hard where they used to be warm and soft. He sees her tears that he has caused, and in his dream, he reaches for her. In this dream, she takes a step back and turns her face away from him. Instead of saying anything, she walks away, leaving behind a note at his feet.

The first thing she sees is him. His blue eyes are warm and inviting when usually they are cold and thinking. She tries to hold him even in her anguish, but he cuts her down with his harsh words before she can reach him. He's a cold man, she thinks. He smirks and tells her she never had a chance before limping away.

When she opens her eyes in the middle of the night, she knows that whatever he may say doesn't change how she feels. No matter how hard she can wish for her love to go away, it will be there. For as long as she cares, he will hurt her. He will hurt her, and she will let him. She will let him, until she can finally let him go, and then she can be free.

His head turns and he glances at the clock before looking at his hand that had held the imaginary letter that he hadn't been able to read. He hates himself for dreaming about her. He doesn't want to dream about her. He doesn't want to dream about anybody. All he wants is for life to go on the way it had before. A frustrated sigh escapes him as he rubs his face and tries to sit up. Reaching for the vicodin, he stares at the pills in his palm before pouring them down his throat. A swallow later, he grabs his cane, knowing sleep is far away. Even in his dreams, he can't get away from her. Maybe with his pain, he can.

**A/N: So, I guess I'm not letting this die. Thanks for reviewing and showing that at least some people are reading to see where this goes. So, thanks.**


	5. I never told you that I hear you

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you._

She sits back and stretches her neck from bending over the microscope for too long. In the lab, she can think clearly with no one around. In here, she can lose herself, and him. With a soft sigh, she remembers this afternoon. He had been his usual self. A new case didn't make him any happier, nor did it make him grumpier. His orders were gruff and filled with sarcasm, but towards her, he hadn't said much. '_Run the tests,'_ had been all he said to her.

Instead of rushing to get the results to him, she stares at the papers blankly before hearing the doors open. Her first thought is that it's House, and she grimaces. Once she hears his voice, she relaxes.

He smiles at her face and looks behind him playfully.

"I'm hoping that facial expression wasn't for me."

"It's not," she laughs as he stands beside her.

"Good," he says without knowing what else to say. Wilson shuffles his feet and nods toward the papers in her hands.

"Is that for House?"

"Of course," she mutters.

"You don't seem to be in that big of a hurry to give them to him."

She looks at him then. He knows, she thinks. He knows that I slapped him.

"Actually, I'm not."

"Well, how about we have lunch and you can delay it even longer?"

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He climbs over the small brick wall separating their offices and looks into the empty office. With a frown, he limps into the office and takes the front door out, making sure not to lock it back. As he limps into the cafeteria, he searches for him among the sea of people. A few steps later and he sees him. He sees them. He sees them together.

Even though he won't admit it, he can't help but feel a stab of jealousy as she laughs at one of his always dopey jokes. He smiles and nods his head before laughing at one of her jokes. House stands in the line, not really noticing what he's putting on the plate. It doesn't matter that he can hear her laughing. It doesn't matter that she calls _him_ by _his_ first name. It doesn't matter.

Foreman comes up beside him and begins to load his plate. Without hesitation, House tells the cashier he's with the dark skinned brother and limps his way to the table that has captured his attention. He knows he shouldn't do it, but that has never stopped him before. He knows she's still angry, but so is he.

With a grunt, he sits soundly beside Wilson and begins to examine his Reuben before taking a huge bite and making sure he chews with mouth open.

She wants to give up. She really does. No matter what she does, she always finds him. Or he finds her, which is out of the question, she thinks. She and Wilson share a look before she takes a bite of her sandwich, making sure not to look at him as he takes another monstrous bite. He acts like nothings changed, and she can't help but feel herself become angry again. It's over, this is over, she says to herself silently. He won't hold her any longer, so let him stay. Let him stay for however long he can.

Wilson sighs and takes a heroic glance at the man beside him. His hair is standing in outrageous ways, not that different than any other day. His stubble is still shading his face. His gruff manner has certainly not changed. Even his clothes are wrinkled and worn looking, but always stylish in the Housian way. The only thing different, is that he hasn't said a word. He hasn't even looked at him…or her. He steals a glance at Cameron and knows she's trying to stay calm. She's trying to be professional, but House is anything but. Still, House stays silent as he chews like a cow.

He doesn't look at her. He can't look at her. His dream comes in a flash and he takes a huge bit into his mouth so he doesn't say anything to her. If it weren't for her eyes, he would be able to be the same man he had been yesterday, but all he can see are her eyes that have given up on him. All he can hear are her words that are never spoken.

She clears her throat and looks up at Wilson before standing to take her tray out. No matter what she tells herself, she won't do this. She won't sit here and show him that everything he thinks about her is true. She won't let him win. A small smile is all she can muster before she leaves the table, hoping he stays there with Wilson for the rest of the day, but knowing he won't.

He mentally heaves a sigh of relief, but soon finds himself wishing she were still there in front of him. Finally, he looks at Wilson and shrugs his shoulder at the raised eyebrows directed at him.

"You do know you look like a fish, don't you?"

Wilson waits for a response and only gets a glare from the man beside him. So, he forks a piece of salad into his mouth before speaking again.

"What did you say to her yesterday?"

"You're going to have to be specific. I talk to a lot of hers."

"Allison Cameron. I heard she beat you."

A breath passes before he shoves another bite of his reuben in his mouth.

"It's not hard to beat up a cripple."

Again, Wilson looks at his friend and wonders what he could have said to make Cameron go completely psycho. She won't tell him, but he figures House would be the one to open up to him. Instead, he's keeping it secret as well.

"You really won't tell me?"

"Are you going to keep dating her?"

"That's…yes, House."

They finish in silence, each aware that something has changed. Something has come between them, and this time, it's something each wants too badly to give up. One will pursue her, while the other won't allow himself to.


	6. Even when you're not even near

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near._

She sits in her car, the windshield wipers roving across the windshield for the sixth time in its slow cycle before she turns it off. She had turned the heat off about four minutes ago, and now she can see the faint crystal pattern of cold on parts of the windshield the wipers simply can't reach. Exhaling a long breath, she wonders why she has come. She hates him. There's just no other word to describe her feelings toward that man. She hates that his face is always in her mind. She hates that his voice echoes through her thoughts even when she's not at work. She hates the way he treats people. She hates the way he needs vicodin. And above all, she hates that she doesn't hate him.

A strong swallow is all he needs to drown out the throbbing pain. A loud clink is heard as he lets the glass fall to the floor, empty of scotch. His fingers dance across the keys, not issuing a sound, only the whisper of light movements. He won't play tonight. He doesn't need to play. He can hear every note as his finger slightly moves on a white key before whispering away to a black note. It's not the sound he needs; it's the movement, the swaying, the momentum, the energy. Before he knows it, he's lost in his own world again. Dancing upon the keys, his fingers show him that he is fine. They show him he will live. They show him what is real. Not her, the keys sing in his mind. She doesn't know how to love you. She thinks she wants too, but she's young and naive.

Her hand is flat on his door. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, afraid to knock, afraid to not knock. There are some things that she needs to say to him, but what if he doesn't care? That's the one thing she doesn't know if she can handle. Before losing her nerve, she makes a fist with her left hand, raises it, and her knuckles make contact with the cold door.

There's a long pause and she holds her breath.

"The door's open, Jimmy."

She blinks, knowing she should tell him that it's Cameron, not Wilson, but she doesn't. Instead, she grips the doorknob and turns it before she can run away.

He doesn't even turn around to look. He lets his fingers continue their soft cascade upon the silent keys, waiting for Wilson to say something. After a few beats of hearing nothing, he turns his head, a smart remark on his tongue, before seeing her in his doorway. His hands stop abruptly, except for one finger which presses down on the first note he's played all night. The solitary sound fills the apartment before fading into memory. His first thought to wander into his mind, is that she's the dream. Her hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends in abandon. Her face is flushed and clean with her mouth set in that slight pout. She stands as if she's uncertain, unreal, undeterred, a mixture of contradictions that embroil her.

Her first thought is to turn around. It isn't worth this. As she looks upon him, at his haggard face, the circles under those piercing blue eyes, those nimble fingers, she can't help but feel herself damned. Damned, for loving him beyond all reason. The way he looks at her for just the briefest of moments, is enough to make her confused. He had wanted her. She had seen that in his eyes. He had closed her out. She had also just witnessed that.

They stare at each other over the divide. She closes the door behind her and leans against it. He lets his hands rest beside his hips on the bench.

"Why did you say that?"

The question from her mouth hangs in the air as he tries to answer it, but he finds that he can't.

"You had no right."

"I know," he hears himself say quietly.

A minute passes sedately. She bravely walks the distance between until her knees can nearly touch the piano bench he sits on. As she looks into the depth of his eyes, she feels a part of her gasping for air. She turns her gaze away to look at the glistening keys of the massive instrument before her.

"I shouldn't have hit you."

"Don't back down, Cameron," he sighs, "Don't be nice. Be truthful."

"I am," she says with forcefulness. "I expect to hear those things from you. I shouldn't have reacted so childlike. I forgive you."

"I don't need your forgiveness," he replies gruffly.

She smiles a little brokenly. "No, I guess you don't, but I give it to you all the same."

Without holding back, she reaches her hand forward, the same one that had slapped him, and lets it rest on his cheek. Even though his head jerks away, she refuses to let him go. The stubble prickles her palm in a way that makes her heart ache. Feeling herself coming undone, she lets it fall, only to have him grasp her wrist at the last second.

A question in her eyes mirrors the one he finds in his mind. He should let her go. He should let her find someone she can truly care for. But he's a selfish man, isn't he? He gently caresses the smooth flesh before tugging her forward. His brain is telling him to stop, but the thought of her is overriding everything else, even the pain. He can feel her resistance, but he doesn't let her go. He pulls her even closer until she's bending forward and he can count her eyelashes. His eyes fall to her lips, her delicate nose, and her green eyes that are always filled with emotion.

"Stop me," he whispers almost pleadingly.

She can break this, she thinks fleetingly. One word from her and she can let this go, but she finds that she can't. Or she won't, there's not a difference. Her lips hovering dangerously near his own, she looks into those pools of crystal blue and knows she's lost. Her lips touch his tentatively, cautiously, hesitantly, waiting for his reaction. He leans forward into her, and even though she knows this is the end of her, she wants the end to be with him. And so, she holds him with her arms, kisses him with all the passion she has within her, and lets him choose her.

He doesn't end the kiss. Instead, beyond all reason, he deepens it. He gives her all he feels he can give her, which isn't much, but he gives it all the same. Standing, he places his hands around her waist and draws his mouth away. He breathes deep as she does the same, and before he can say anything, she takes one of his hands around her waist, and pulls away from him. At first, he's confused, until she keeps holding on and tries to lead him with her. Though he should say no, he doesn't. Reaching for his cane, he limps with her towards the bedroom.

He takes off her clothes, one article at a time, feeling her shiver with the unexpected. She takes her own time, briefly resting her hands across his right thigh before he pulls them away and distracts her with a deep kiss before placing himself between the warmth of her body. A mistake, they both know, but they won't think that until the morning. It can wait until the morning. He kisses her again, and finds a release a drug can't come close too.

**A/N: well well well, thanks for reviews guys!**


	7. I never told you that I hate you

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you._

He hears her as she stubs her toe in the darkness and curses in the quietness. He makes sure he doesn't move a muscle as he hears her come closer to the bed and for a moment, he's afraid she will touch him or wake him up, but she doesn't. She fumbles around for a few seconds before finding her shirt and quickly buttons it up before turning in a circle looking on the floor. He watches silently as she puts her shoes in one hand and her discarded bra in the other. She goes to walk out and as she passes the doorframe, he feels her hesitate and turn around. He shuts his eyes. Part of him wants her to leave so he can forget about what happened. Part of him wants her to come back and touch his face because he will never forget what happened. She doesn't.

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He gets in her face, yelling at her because the tests have been compromised. It's not her fault, and this he knows, but he needs to yell at her. He's not sure why, but he knows it must be done. He expects her to be hurt and withdrawn, but she stands up taller and waits for his voice to die. Instead of defending herself, she moves closer to him, glaring all the while, and gives him a taste of her own bitter tongue. Her remark stings him in the sense that what she says is true. He's a bitter man in pain, destined to be alone, without love from anyone.

She walks calmly out of the office, avoiding Foreman's and Chase's amazed stares, while gripping the file in her suddenly cold hand. She finds herself leaning against the railing, looking over the hospital, far from the diagnostic room and thus, far from House. She sighs exasperated and hangs her head, trying to think. What the hell had gotten into her last night? How could she have believed it would change anything? The magic had fallen away.

He leans against the wall, making sure she doesn't see him as he watches her. It had taken him over an hour to find her, and now, he didn't know what to say. He wouldn't apologize. He wouldn't become soft for her. He wouldn't be able to hold her. He watches as she flips the file open and gazes upon the papers. She puts her hair behind her ear after it falls to shadow her face. He feels his fingers itch as he wishes to run his fingers through it again. As the thought washes over him, he quickly shakes his head and limps away to the elevator before he makes another mistake.

From the opposite side, Wilson watches House as he climbs into the elevator. He blows a tired breath from his mouth before wandering over to where she stands. He already knows that whatever was between them is gone. She had given herself to House, even if she didn't even know it. As much as he likes her, he knows a lost cause when he sees one. He stands at her shoulder and she smiles at him before closing the file and turning to him. In her eyes, he can see the trepidation and guilt. All he can do is shake his head.

"You don't even have to tell me."

She frowns, unsure what he's talking about.

"We've only been dating for the past three weeks. We won't be hurt."

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes through as he walks away. Over, is all she can think. She's not sad, she's not hurt, she's not even surprised. Of course he would know about her and House. Not that it changes anything. She's still alone. She's still angry. She still hurts. She still loves him. She still hates him.

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He taps the end of his cane against the edge of Wilson's desk in a slow, monotonous, and even rhythm.

He sits relaxed in his chair, hands laced together, waiting for him to stop tapping and start talking. Finally, he sighs and leans the cane against the desk before looking at him for the first time since he limped in.

"You're not going to yell at me?"

"What would that solve?"

"I know you're pissed at me. You might as well get it off your chest."

"I already know you're a bastard. I should have figured you'd do something like that."

He doesn't say anything in return.

"What do you plan on doing with her now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you two together? Are you just benefiting from each other?"

"Nothing's going on between us. It was one night. Didn't mean anything."

He shakes his head slowly before looking out his window, wondering if House plans on being miserable for the rest of his days.

"It wouldn't work between us."

"How do you know that?"

"She's nearly half my age. She's always nice. She thinks she can change me. I don't need fixing. I don't need her charity."

With that said, he stands and limps to the door. Before he can walk out, Wilson's voice stops him.

"You think she likes you because you're broken and damaged. She thinks she can fix you. But have you ever thought…that maybe you're the only one broken enough to fix _her_?"

He pauses, tapping the door knob hesitantly before closing the door. What he had damaged with her, he would not fix, because he would end up breaking her even more.

**A/N: i don't know, this chapter doesn't really have the same feel as the others...i guess it's more filler...i don't know.**


	8. It was something you could already feel

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel._

As she turns off her desk lamp, she feels the weight upon her shoulders. Today has been hell. Today has been torture. She could have handled it if only he would have let her. He didn't have to be so cold to her. He didn't have to demean her in front of everyone. She should be used to it by now, but after last night, part of her had hoped. It was the same silly hope she had harbored when she first began working here. It was the same stupid hope that had been thrilled when he had accepted her date. It was…hope. Not anymore though.

She turns around, her purse slung over shoulder, when he opens the door. His coat makes him appear larger than he is. His briefcase, full of reports he needs to correct, is limply in his hand. His boyish face is open and his slight smile hints at sadness. He's a man broken, just like her.

"Cameron," he sighs as he walks forward slowly, "I…just wanted to tell you that, it's fine. I mean…it was a surprise of course, but…."

His voice trails off and she turns on her lamp so that she can see him through the darkness. She leans against her desk and sighs. What can she tell him? It was a mistake? Of course it was. It meant nothing? It didn't. Give me another chance? I don't want one.

"It shouldn't have happened, James. I'm sorry that I did that to you."

He tilts his head slightly before exhaling and nearly laughing.

"As much as I wanted things to work out between us and as much as I think we could have been something…I can't help but envy him. He's got you. He doesn't even want you, but he's got you."

The last stings her, but she knows it's true. House is a man who doesn't want her. He doesn't want anything, and she must live with that.

"He's a son of a bitch, Allison."

He pauses before shaking his head. "Don't hurt him, please. I guess I'll see you Monday," he says before he turns around, walks to the opens it, then walks out as her eyes follow through the glass.

The door to her side opens and she nearly falls back onto her desk. She gains her balance and looks at him openly with Wilson's words swimming in her mind. She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know if she should say anything. After the way he's acted today, she doesn't want to say a word, and so she doesn't.

He's not sure what to make of Wilson's words. He's not sure what to make of her reaction to him. Looking at her now, he feels annoyed. Her hair is a mess. Her clothes are wrinkled and there's an ink stain on her blouse. Her eyes are tired and there's even a pen mark across her temple.

Without saying a word he limps forward, sticks his thumb in his mouth, and then reaches for her head. Even though she leaps back, she meets the desk as he leans forward to erase the mark that bothers him. As he finishes, he catches her startled gaze and removes his hand quickly, but he doesn't step away from her. He's too close for comfort, but he's always uncomfortable, and if it means he can break her, he will do it. He needs to break her so that she'll stay away from him.

"You look like hell," he says simply.

She frowns, taken completely off guard. Her hand reaches to the spot where he rubbed at her skin.

"You had a pen mark."

With him so close, she can only nod into his stare. She has to stay strong. She doesn't care for him. She doesn't like him. It's the only way she will survive, and the only way she can keep her heart.

"Last night never happened," she says with a tired face.

He looks at her, a smile almost at his lips. She's always surprising, he thinks.

"Never," he agrees and holds out his hand.

A pact with the devil, her mind suddenly thinks as she fights a smile. Slowly, she reaches her hand out and shakes his hand, ignoring the memory the single hold releases. This is how it will be. With a forced smile, she turns her body halfway and turns off her lamp again. She walks away, having to brush past him because he refuses to move from his spot.

"I am."

The door freezes in her hand and she turns back slightly to where he stands in the darkness still with his back to her.

"You're what?"

He thumps his cane two times before turning to face her.

"I am a son of a bitch, Cameron. Nothing changes that."

She's not quite sure what to make of that statement, and for right now, she's too tired to think it through fully.

"Since when do you state the obvious, House?" And with those few words, she leaves him.

As the door shuts, he leans in the same spot she had just moments before. He doesn't even try to fight the small smile that dances across his lips. That was better wasn't it? They were civil. Nothing had changed. It was as it should be. Except now, now he found himself wondering. Wondering, about things he shouldn't be wondering about.

He shakes his head and heads out. It's nothing a few vicodin and some scotch can't fix. He'll dream about her for sure, but if dreams are all he can have, then he won't fight them like he will her.

**A/N: it seems like it's hopeless, but house and cam are coming even closer to forever. thanks for sticking with me guys. :P**


	9. Inevertoldyouhowmuchyoudisappointedme

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me._

Alone in the bathroom stall, she holds her face in her hands. A shaky breath is all she can manage before she breaks into a smothered sob. The first tear falls and she feels it crawling slowly down her hand before she sits up and wipes her face with the sleeve of her lab coat. There's no reason to cry. Her mother may have been fine, but she wasn't great. She may have loved all her children, but it wasn't enough. She had always been last, the loner.

She remembers how awful it had been to be her daughter. She remembers fighting, before finally falling into the background of her siblings. There shouldn't be pain, but there is. There shouldn't be anger, but there is. Nothing is holding her back, but she still can't forget that family is family. Blood is blood, and she can't shirk her family duties.

Instead of going to Wilson's office, as he was going to, he veers to the left. Instead of going to clinic duty, as he should, he keeps walking straight. Instead of walking past the door, as he needs to, he pushes it open. The ladies' restroom, though it was, couldn't stop him. He hears her softly. He hears her unrolling the toilet paper and quietly blowing her nose. For a few seconds, he stands there, almost unsure of himself. A voice tells him to leave. It tells him not to care. It tells him she doesn't need him.

But he's never listened to conscience before, and he's not going to start now. He limps forward slowly. Step, thunk. Step, thunk. Step, thunk. He continues and finally stops in front of her closed stall. He pulls the cane up and rests the tip upon the door even though it's locked.

Quickly, she wipes her face and tries to stop her crying as she hears the unmistakable sound of him and his cane. A week had passed with them being normal and civil, but she doesn't want him around now. She can't deal with him upon everything else, reminding her of her failures.

"Go away," she says hoarsely.

"I'm like herpes. I never go away and show up when you least expect."

In spite of herself, she smiles and shakes her head before sniffling.

"I don't want to talk."

"I don't want to have to walk with a cane. It never matters what we want."

"Leave me alone, House. Please," she whispers so painfully that she gasps.

He bites the inside of his mouth before looking to the floor. He drops his cane from the door and leans on it heavily.

"Take the rest of the day off," he says gruffly and limps away.

Inside, she leans her head on the side of the stall and bites her lip to keep from calling out to his retreating uneven footsteps.

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As he stands there, he thinks this is a mistake. Looking at her, he knows that he shouldn't be here. She's got a shawl around her already thin shoulders, her hair is uncombed and a mass of tangles, her eyes are puffy and red. He doesn't do emotions, so why is he here? He doesn't know.

"Come in," she says and staggers away to the couch and sits with a sigh. She waits as he stands in the doorway, a look of caution on his face, before finally limping slowly in and closing the door with a click. Let him witness her like this. He can't possible hurt her more. Somehow, she ends up smiling at his carefulness as he looks around the room. She expects him to sit upon the single chair, but he walks past it and sits beside her without a word.

He doesn't say anything. For reasons unknown to him, he finds her nearness disconcerting and comforting at the same time. Stupid thoughts, he thinks and reminds himself that he isn't soft. He doesn't break what little is left of him. He certainly won't for her.

Two hours go by, each never saying a word except for another beer. They come to the last two and he watches her worriedly. She's near the brink, but she doesn't seem to care. Rubbing a hand across his face, he appreciates the slight buzz that has come to him. It's not much, but it's enough. He watches her eyelids flutter as she struggles with sleep.

"Just go to sleep."

She widens her eyes, trying to wake, but failing. He's right, she thinks. This is why she got drunk isn't it? To fall asleep and dream dreamlessly. She knows she won't make it to her bedroom, and she knows he can't help her either. She moves to her side as he slides down to the right side of the couch and lets her eyes become heavy and close.

He waits for a few minutes before placing her tucked legs over his own, even though his right thigh throbs under the additional pressure. It's a movement she won't remember and so he doesn't worry. His eyes close and he finds himself truly sleepy for the first time in a long while. As he feels himself falling under the spell of slumber, he hears her weak voice and turns his head.

"She never loved me, but I tried so hard, House. I tried so hard."

Said so softly, he has to strain his ears. As her words trailed off, he looks down at her feet. Barely, he lets himself softly brush her ankles before closing his eyes again. There will be time tomorrow to ask her questions, to fill in his puzzle that was always changing of her. Right now, he's fine to sit here with her beside him. She won't remember in the morning, and that's the only reason he allows himself to.

**A/N: well, this chapter...i don't know. i guess i just wanted house to comfort cam the only way he could, by just being there, not knowing what to say. i might be stretching it just a wee bit on house's part, but i apologize for that. thanks you guys, your reviews really let me know that i'm not writing to myself.lol**


	10. Every time you turned around

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around._

He…is right. She doesn't remember. He's relieved, and why shouldn't he be? It means he doesn't have to make up some excuse or put down any insane ideas she has of him. It works for both of them. They can hold onto their illusions. He glances at her from his office. She has her hair pulled back from her face, always professional. Instead of eating in the cafeteria, she's brought her sandwich back to her chair. Showing himself nothing has changed, he limps to her desk pulling along a chair before sitting down in front of her.

She raises her eyebrows at him but doesn't say anything as she bites into her food. He had seen her drunk and passed out, he'd also seen her naked. What else is there? He tries to swipe her bag of chips but she knows exactly what he's going to do. A smile crosses her lips as she deftly cups the chips before he's got his grasp around it.

Their hands meet and he tells himself it's normal to feel like his skin is about to burn off. It's normal that it screams for her touch. Pouting, he snatches the cookie and bites into it petulantly. She tells herself that she doesn't like his company, even if she doesn't hate it. It's normal…as it should be. As it will be.

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She turns around, tears brimming in her eyes. As she does, she sees his figure on the other side of the glass wall. In his eyes, she sees the annoyance. She sees the anger as he twitches his fingers on his cane. Walking through the sliding door, she braces herself against the storm that is him.

"You have to tell her she's dying. You can't give her false hope."

"We're not even sure she's going to die. She has a chance."

"No she doesn't. I know she doesn't. Quit being scared."

"I'm not scared," she says as she walks away from him.

"Would you quit being so damn soft! Find your backbone! You can't get attached to every person that walks through those doors! Get over it!"

She grabs onto the station, ignoring the nurses' stares behind it, watching her knuckles whiten. She feels him behind her, breathing down her neck. In a rush, she turns to face him, her chest heaving with words she won't allow herself to say. She keeps her mouth shut, knowing she doesn't want to give him anything. For a moment, she thinks he's going to say more, but he doesn't. He stands there in all his arrogance. Feeling a rage she hasn't felt in years, she feels herself about to walk out of this hospital forever.

He hasn't seen this look in her eyes, even when she slapped him weeks ago. It's enough to make him think he pushed her too far. Farther than he'd ever intended. She's had a hell of a time and he knows that. He also knows that if she never overcomes this weakness, she'll never survive being the good doctor she could be. She'll die a little every time she cares about her patients, and in the end, there won't be anything left of her.

Not able to find words, she leaves him standing there. As she walks away, she tries to remember why she can't leave him. She can't think of any good reason why. He's never shown her anything of himself. The one great night, it had been a universal joke on her. The other night he'd shown up at her door, it had just been another jab at her soul. He didn't care. He didn't know how. He didn't want to. So let him have it, she thinks.

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"Why do you do this?"

He stares decidedly at his cane, never looking up to her. The day's almost over. She's here. He's quiet. She's tired. He's musing.

She sighs, looking through him to the window. Evening, a beautiful time of day. Not so bright you can't see, but not so dark you're blind. It's the time of day for truth, where everything shows true. Except for him. Always him. Without another breath, she walks away, finished with waiting.

"You care too much," he mutters, not looking up as she stops. "Loving only gets you hurt. It makes you give up a piece of yourself that you never get back. If you do happen to get it back, it's always broken…unusable."

She walks forward until she's standing in front of him and he finally looks away from his cane to her.

"I care about people, House. I want them to be happy. I want them to have a chance of making their life better. If it means giving up some small part of me, I think it's worth it."

"How much are you willing to give? People are suckers, Cameron. If you give, they'll take as much as they can. They'll take all of you. You can't be a doctor like that."

"So what do I do? Be you? Make sure no one gets anything of me? I won't do that."

He waits a beat. "You'll learn the hard way…that it's the only way."

"No. It doesn't. Not for me. I need more than that."

Looking at her, he feels himself believing her. She's right. He knows it, but he doesn't want to face it. She'll have a chance. She's naïve enough. And he finds himself wanting that, just a taste. Instead, he lowers his head.

Not for the first time, she wonders if he knows how hopeless he is. He won't let himself feel. He won't let himself live. She reaches forward, forcing his chin up with her hand so that he has to look at her. Searching his eyes, she finds the same blue eyes that tell nothing. She finds the same barrier keeping him safe from the world. As much as she hates him sometimes, she's drawn to him all the same.

"How much would you take…if I gave you me?"

She counts her heartbeats, waiting for the answer she's sure he won't give.

He lets himself seriously consider her question, thinking he'll lie.

"All of you," he murmurs as he pulls his head away from her touch.

A smile flitters across her face just briefly. Everything she knows shifts in view of his answer. She steps closer to him and catches his face in both hands, not letting him push her away from him. She leans into him, planting a kiss on the right corner of his lips, knowing more will be too much. In spite of everything, she doesn't want to give up on him.

"Take me, House. Take however much you want. Just let me take some of you."

She keeps her face close to his, not wanting to look at his face as he says whatever he's bound to say.

"There's not much left of me."

A worried sigh escapes her and she feels herself relax. It's enough. He's taken this step, and that's more than she thought he would ever do. He'll fight her, but she can fight too. He'll push her away, hurt her, damage her, but she'll take it all. He may be right, but he's not always right.


	11. Inevertoldyoubecause we had so much time

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time._

She fixes her gaze upon the TV screen, tapping her left foot to some imaginary music that she doesn't really hear. A yawn escapes her mouth before she rests her head back against the sofa, wondering if he is going to say anything more to her tonight. Stealing a glance at his form sitting beside her, she finds him absolutely normal. He's watching the TV with ankles crossed on the coffee table, his left hand around the remote while his right lies casually on his right thigh, the closest to her own left thigh.

Her gaze lingers over his hand, studying the long digits, the careful nails, the strong knuckles, the deep, strong veins giving him life. Her heart beats six times before she brings her hand forward and before she loses her courage, places it atop his hand. Needing his touch, she lets her slender fingers find their way through the open spaces between his fingers and lets them lay smoothly on top, waiting for what he will do.

For a single space of breathing, he forgets that he is a rough man. As her hand discovers his, he finds the touch more than electrifying. He finds it comforting and easy, letting him take whatever he wanted from it. His thoughts are in his mind, telling him to draw his hand away from her soft touch, but he doesn't. The hands on the clock click by for more than nine seconds as he struggles to give her what she need while keeping part of himself as well.

While she doesn't expect him to say anything, or even do anything, she can't help but feel the song of slight rejection hum in her ears. That is until his hand very slowly, painfully slow and very much in leisure, curls around the ends of her fingers tips, drawing them towards his palm. She doesn't say anything, she glances at him again, but he hasn't taken his eyes off from the television set. A small smile begins to flare at her lips before she feels him very gently grasp her fingertips once before releasing his strong hold so that her hand, still lying upon his, rests comfortably in the once empty spaces between his tired fingers.

Turning her gaze back to the show on the TV, she continues watching the screen, telling herself that she'll leave at the next commercial.

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He wakes to find a warmth that he hasn't felt in a very long time. In fact, it startles him so much that he nearly rolls over to be rid of it. His body confused, it jerks in response as he realizes why he's so warm. Opening his eyes, he sees the dark, wavy tangle of hair on his chest. He feels her arm across his chest, her left leg slightly thrown over his left leg, her chest rising and falling at the same pace his is. He raises his arms, wondering if he can move her off of him, but then he drops them back down. He watches her, or rather, the top of her head and bits of her nose, cheek, and lips.

Two weeks ago, he had started taking from her. Two weeks ago, he had let her have just the smallest bit of him, but not anymore than that. Watching her breathe so casually on him, he wonders why he let himself do this. He wonders why she wants him and he wonders how long it will be before the new wears off and is replaced by the old, making her realize that she doesn't want him. Tearing himself away from his thoughts, he looks to the clock beside the bed before looking back at the woman sleeping.

"Cameron…Cameron…wake up."

He shakes her shoulder, but she merely moans while dragging her shoulder away, causing her to reach even more around his waist in a near hug. It's the most physical contact they've had in two weeks, mostly because of him, but with her still in the stages of sleep, he savors it.

"Cameron, wake up. You're slobbering on my shirt, I'm going to drown."

"I haven't slobbered since I was seven," she mumbles in her groggy, slow speech before unwrapping her arm from waist and placing it on her side, but making no move to get up from where she is using him as a pillow.

"So, you're lying on a crippled old man…who needs to go to work curing the sick people of the world."

She snorts into his shirt, but does manage to sit up, dragging her shirt over her overexposed back. A yawn escapes her and she places her hand over her mouth and keeps it there as she stares down at him in his sleepiness.

"I didn't hurt your leg did I?"

He frowns at her, not because of her question, but because her hand is still covering her mouth.

"It always hurts. Besides, you were suffocating the good one not the bad one. Why are you covering your mouth?"

She rolls her eyes. "I haven't brushed my teeth."

"Oh, you're right. Keep your hand there."

With a playful smack at his arm, she gets up from the bed and fights a smile as he mockingly howls in pain. She finds his clock, her face suddenly going slack with the realization that she's more than an hour late.

"House…I'm late."

"I'm guessing you're not talking about your bleeding cycle."

Pulling her shoes on, she doesn't even respond to his remark. With a last glimpse of him lying on the bed with eyes closed, she tells herself that if she waits long enough, he'll come to her. And with that in mind, she doesn't go back to kiss him, or to touch his face like she wants to. Instead, she says goodbye and hastily retreats to the real world.

He hears the door shut, quietly reassuring the fact that she has gone from him. Listening to the quiet that is his home, he finds that while he loves it like it was, he also likes what she has brought him. Shaking his head, he distractedly massages his aching thigh before feeling a yawn take him. Slow and without attachment was the way he would do this with her, there was no other way, and there was no other way he could be hurt.

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She pulls into the grocery store, one last stop before she goes to the hospital. Intending to only be few minutes, she leaves everything but a few bills in her car and runs into the store.

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He mutters in his sleep as he finds he can't quite go back to sleep. His leg is throbbing and his mind isn't fuzzy enough to let go of the day. With a grunt, he swallows two of his pills before hobbling to the bathroom.

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Picking up two sandwiches from the deli, she rounds her way to the check out lanes before her, until she hears it and stops in her tracks. The sandwiches fall from her grasp as the man with the gun slowly lowers the gun and points it at a young woman standing in the middle of the aisle. Flight or fight. Fight, she thinks without even hesitating before taking the distance between them and shortening it.

The man never takes his gaze from the dark haired woman who is clearly pregnant, her basket of formula lying forgotten at her feet.

Cameron swallows before taking another step forward, but halts deathly as the gun pivots toward her, his cheek twitching in the motion.

"Lady, get back. This has nothing to do with you. Only me and her."

"You just shot a weapon in a grocery store, sir. I think this involves ever-"

He takes a step forward and she notices the other young woman nearly cowering. Instead of backing down, she doesn't. She stands taller, her gaze dark and powerful as he keeps holding the gun on her. She's terrified. She wants to leave. She wants to walk out of here. But the woman…she stays for her.

"I'm Doctor Cameron. I work at Princeton Plainsboro. You don't want to do this. You don't want to go to jail."

He stands silently still, for one brief moment she thinks he's going to cave. And then…he turns so swiftly she can't even blink before the gun fires.


	12. And then it came too soon

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon._

"They…there's been a hostage situation at Kilman's Grocery Store."

He doesn't need to know anymore. Keeping his mouth stern, he grips the tip of his cane, slowly losing the feeling in his fingers. The glass door opens again and Cuddy walks in slowly, her face worried with lines and her hair looking as if she's run her fingers through it more than once. He doesn't need to hear her say it. He already knows, doesn't he?

"House-."

"I'm going to the clinic."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

She hears, more than sees, the bullet surge into her upper arm. She hears the firing of the gun, the gasp of the young woman beside her, her own breath remaining calm and shallow, and then she hears the bullet as it rips through her flesh, narrowly missing bone.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Two hours and the police are still negotiating. Staring down at his cane, he feels something he can't describe, and because he can't, he slightly feels along the cane's body. Careful touches and it's fine, but a stronger hand, a less gentle caress and he finds the cane halfway across the empty exam room on the floor.

The door opens slowly and he doesn't raise his head to see who it is, knowing exactly who will be standing there. He doesn't say a word as Wilson closes the door behind him and sits opposite him on the stool.

They sit there, together, silent, waiting. There's the slight clambering going on outside the door with children whining, parents shushing, and nurses walking back and forth. The outside world has dimmed, become quieter, and they sit in the quietest part, alone.

"House…don't do this."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Do you want to-."

"No."

"There's no reason to believe she's-."

"Doesn't matter. I don't care, Jimmy. She's my duckling, bound to leave the nest sometime. Although, I didn't think she'd take this way out. Rather Lifetime movie-ish don't you think?"

Wilson doesn't say anything. House doesn't say anything. Their gazes turn towards each other before falling back to the door, trying to forget that one of their own is in danger, and trying to forget that if that one doesn't come back, nothing will be the same.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Two and a half hours. As she sits holding her jacket around her arm, leaning against the shelves of the aisle, she sees him pace back and forth, trying to ignore the voices of the policemen on the radio. So tired, her eyes close. Just for a minute, she thinks.

"I'll give up," he manages hoarsely, the gun lightly in his hand, and the tragic smile of hopelessness across his young face.

Painfully, her eyelids flutter open as the young woman beside her begins to cry her sobs one last time. She focuses on the man again, trying to make the double vision fade, but failing.

"Don't do this," she whispers. "That's your baby."

The smile fades into nothing as he raises the gun to his head. "No…it's not."

A silent age goes by before she realizes what he's intending to do. The harshness as her breath expels from her is all she hears as she somehow finds strength that should have been sucked away, to rise from her sitting position and meet him in an excruciating hug. A second later and she would have been fine. A second sooner and she would have surely been dead.

The gun fires for its last time, missing the intended victim. The gun in both their hands, his eyes widen in pain, hers in shock. At the same time, their hands release the metal weapon between them, falling to the floor dully. If she had been more forceful, she would have been shot in her chest. If she had more docile, he would have died as he wanted.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

A lull comes and she lays her head back against the pillow. A moment of peace has finally surfaced as the doctors and detectives have finally left her alone. Everyone has come to see her, except him. Though it doesn't surprise her, and that in effect surprises her. Closing her eyes heavily, she fights the dark edges that are coming to claim her because she doesn't know what nightmares they will bring.

Leaning in the doorway, he pauses to watch her sleep. It isn't a life threatening injury and she'll be fine. She'll be fine. The doctor in him knows that, accepts that. The man in him knows she could be dead, doesn't accept that. It cements everything that has told him he will always be alone, that anything he tries to care for will depart with no goodbye.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Sometime during the night, she wakes to the semi-dark room. The steady hum and beep of the machines, remind her of where she is. In the dark, her eyes adjust slowly, taking in her surroundings, until they stop on him. His chin rests on his chest, arms folded across his chest, ankles crossed upon the edge of her bed. The only thought that walks through her mind, is that he's here. He's finally here.

Carefully, she begins to get out of the bed and cautiously manages the four steps to him. Watching him, she wonders where this will lead. She wonders if she can love him, if he can love her, like they both need. While she doesn't know the answer, she finds that it doesn't consume her anymore.

He feels the smoothness of her hand upon his cheek, and thinking it's a dream, he doesn't fight her. He feels the softness of her mouth upon his lips, and realizing it's not a dream, opens his eyes. Staring at her, with bandaged arm, pale face, and tired eyes, the thought of leaving her waltzes seductively across his mind.

"I hate you," he whispers into her mouth.

She rests her cheek against his forehead, softly answering, "I've hated you for the longest time."

**A/N: hey everyone. well, in my mind, the guy either got shut in the gut, or his 'girlfriend' was accidentally shot, or no one got shot. i'm not really sure, i guess it's an ambiguous situation. anyways...i almost scrapped this story bc after the last chapter, i got no reviews and thought, oh well that's it then. but apparently, i'm just not getting any alerts in my email at all, which is strange, and annoying to be honest. anyways, reviews guys, are always helpful, and the 'i hate you' bit, idk, it worked better than them trying to say 'i love you' or 'i was so scared', and so i stayed with it. :)**


	13. I never told you because I was afraid

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid._

The rain falls softly against the window, leaving its trail etched upon the glass. A slow rumble of thunder echoes into the room, making her wish she could walk outside and let the cool water wash over her. Instead, she shakes her head of these thoughts and turns back towards her desk. She has mail to sort, more than three weeks worth, and House would certainly not do it.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"You haven't talked about it?"

House ignores the question, reaching over to grab his staple of Reuben.

"I'm paying for the food. You might as well give me something."

"No."

"It's been over three weeks and you two still haven't talked about it?"

"Nope."

"Have you even asked?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Okaaay. Has _she_ talked to you about it?"

"Negative."

Pulling a few bills out of his wallet, he lets House pass him to find a table for them to eat. Turning, he finds him standing almost in front of him, ignoring the glances as people try to brush past him. It's then that he sees her alone at a small table far at the back next to the glass window.

He leans just a touch more on his cane, seeing her plate full, but not touched. She's got her face in her hand, staring out the long window, looking at nothing but the rain and fog. As he feels Wilson come to stand beside him, a knowing look on his face, he clears his throat before limping his way to sit firmly opposite her.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

One drop, two drop, three drop, and then many. She closes her eyes loosely, raises her head dreamily, and sags against the car. Her clothes are soaked, her jacket long forgotten in the confines of her jaded vehicle. The drops come peacefully until a burst of thunder shakes the ground, and she feels more than sees the crack of lightning that flashes maniacally against the dark sky. The downpour is sudden, fiery, forceful, demanding, and she relishes it. The sting of her face blends with the sting of her arm, the sting of her heart.

He watches her through the windshield of his own car, wondering how long she's been standing outside of his apartment in the rain. Long enough to be drenched from head to toe, long enough for him to find her after getting out of the hospital late. The steady beat of the rain reminds him of some song that he used to play while with Stacy, the beat that he'd learned to forget once she had left. Ironic, that it would play while he was trapped in a car almost spying on his…partner.

Finally, he limps out of the car, slowly making his way to where she stands oblivious to anything but the weather. He doesn't like being wet, he doesn't like getting cold, but he stands watching her, mesmerized all the same. He doesn't know where they stand. He only knows they've held onto each other for this long, and that they've been dancing around each other for days. On impulse, he turns his head away from her, thinking he'll leave her out here until she's ready, but he changes his mind.

With a soft breath, she feels him leaning beside her, staying silent, being careful not to lean too much on her healing right arm. Finally feeling herself drawn back to Earth, she opens her eyes to return his intent look. The steady beats of the rain slow, drifting seamlessly into the background.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore."

She tilts her head, not knowing what to reveal. "I'm not afraid."

He searches her face, trying to uncover her secrets. "Everybody lies."

The comment makes her smile and she can't help but lean her head against his shoulder. He'll never change, she thinks, and that's the one thing she loves most about him. For a startling moment, she knows she's going to shatter into the smallest fragments, right here in the rain. Then his hand brings her chin up, his thumb softly grazing it while his eyes peer deep.

"I don't know what you need. I probably couldn't even give it to you if I did know. This isn't easy for me. I don't need another woman to burn me and I certainly don't need some woman who doesn't know what she's in for." He pauses, trying to gauge her reaction. "I don't know what you want. This isn't some fairytale romance book that your grandma read. I'm not going to save you and you're not going to save me. This is life. It's cruel, it's bitter, and it's not pretty."

"I don't expect you to sweep me up in your arms, or to climb up the tower to rescue me, or to ride into the sunset, especially since you're crippled."

Quietly, he snorts before shaking his head and leaning closer. "No jokes, Cameron."

"I…didn't know," she hesitates, suddenly finding the plump drops of rain coming between them, "if I wanted you."

Even though he's been thinking these words, to hear her say them clamps around him roughly.

"I don't want to save you, House. I don't have the strength. I don't need you to save me."

He pulls away, trying to ignore her indifference, only realizing too late that she's not indifferent, she's trying to make it easy for him.

"It won't break me if you leave," she says, her voice soft even in the rain. She finds that what she says is true. It won't be easy, but she'll survive like she always has.

"You want to end this?"

"I don't want to waste my time. Every time I go outside, I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know who I'll meet, and I don't want to be stuck wondering if the next thing I say will send you over the edge." She loses her tongue before finally finding her courage. "Are you afraid?"

The question hangs in the air and upon her face. For a moment, he knows the answer's been etched in his mind ever since she walked into his office. He's a man who won't admit it though, because he doesn't show weakness, he just doesn't.

"No," he says simply, hoping it will make him sound more confident.

The word makes her shiver, not with confusion, but with longing. She's longed for him to be afraid, and even though he refutes it, she sees it in those veiled eyes.

"I'm scared," she states, the smallest hint of a tear forming at the corner of her eye, though for a second he thinks it's the traitorous rain.

"That's okay."

The rain begins to fall harder, no longer her friend, and she wishes she had her jacket on.

"So what do we do?"

He shrugs his shoulder, looking to the door of the apartment before turning back to her. She's got her arms around herself, and the wistful look she held while standing openly in the rain, is gone thankfully.

"We go home," he replies as he walks and opens the apartment door before waiting for her in the small hallway in front of his door. Even though he can sense her uncertainty, he waits calmly for once in his life, and she comes to him.

**A/N: And the alerts are working, finally. How many of you got bombed with the backlog of alerts. Ha. Yeah, well, thanks for the support guys. Thanks for reviews. And I think I have an idea coming up...but I don't know how I'm going to do it...and if it's going to change the dynamic I've already built...maybe. But idk, maybe I won't do it lol. Again, many thanks.**


	14. Never would I have thought you were too

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too._

He doesn't hold her while she sleeps. She holds him, she thinks as she stares out of the cold window. Turning around, she goes to his piano and sits on his bench. A dreamy smile comes placidly to her mouth as she remembers the night of the first time she'd felt his bare skin against her own. Knowing he's deep asleep, she lets her fragile hand rove across the keys before pushing down on a G note. The solid sound fills the air and she hangs her head, relishing the emptiness that comes afterwards.

She should learn a song to play for him, maybe for his birthday coming up. Resting her hands on either side of her hips, she looks around the room, noting that every bit is him. Nothing is _not_ him, not holding his thoughts, not showing his tastes, not hiding him from those who look closer.

"What are you doing?"

The sharp jerk of her neck shows him he's scared her, but the smile on her lips tells him she doesn't care.

"You're awfully handy with that cane, aren't you?"

"It's not the only cane I'm handy with."

He smiles at her laugh, lightly filling the quiet apartment. With a groan, he sits beside her on the bench, wondering how she can be so warm and telling himself he doesn't want to put his arm around her. Instead, he reaches with right hand and skillfully dances it across the musical instrument, noting how her eyes close as she listens to the simple tune. After a few minutes of playing with both hands, he feels her lean against him and lay her head on his shoulder. It's still strange to him, having her want to touch him, when he never wants to touch anyone.

"Your birthday's soon."

"I don't have a birthday."

"Liar."

"I don't lie."

A snort escapes her and she straightens with a very serious look covering her features, making him nervous enough to miss a key.

"What?"

"I was just thinking…that I should get you a walker so you can keep up with me."

"I'm not that old, kid."

"Yes you are, grandpa."

"I guess that means you need a rattle for your next birthday."

"From you? Yes."

"Who are you then? Anna Nicole?"

"Don't say that. She's dead."

"And?"

"We should respect the dead."

"I don't respect anyone…except for my mother."

"Mama's boy."

"Jealous?"

She shakes her head, biting her lip to stop her smile before putting her hand on his back, feeling him involuntarily stiffen before finally relaxing as her fingers gently run across his muscles.

"What do you want for your birthday?"

"I want…no more clinic duty."

"I don't think I can swing that one. I could get you a week off though."

"Really? How's that?"

"Can't give away my secrets."

"Don't tell me you've been seeing Cuddy on the side. Wait…do tell me."

"You can wish, but no."

His left hand goes down the C scale slowly while the right one lies on his thigh. She rests her chin upon his shoulder, watching him play.

"Why are you afraid?"

The question comes between notes, and she doesn't say anything until his fingers stop touching keys to rest upon his lap.

"I haven't lived," she whispers as she tilts her head so that her cheek now rests fully on his broad shoulder. "I haven't accomplished anything. I haven't made a difference."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's the truth. Why is Steve so quiet?"

"He senses the serious tension and knows to shut up for his dear life."

Again, she smiles and tries to stop it.

"Smile, Cameron. It won't stop the world."

Without saying anything, she sits up to look directly at him. How can she tell him that she hopes everyday he won't shut her out? What if she told him how afraid she is that one day, she'll wake up and he won't? Does she tell him that she dreams sometimes, of getting a phone call to find out he's been killed, by car, by gun, by hands, by vicodin? How does she explain that she's afraid of falling even more deeply in love, only to be turned away?

"We…have an unusual relationship, don't we?"

"Considering that you're dating me, I say yes."

"Will it last, you think?"

He won't lie to her. "Chances are, no."

"Why?"

"Me."

"You?"

"Yes."

"Because?"

"Because."

"You do know…if I wouldn't lose my job, I would smother you," she says as her hands palm the sides of his face.

"Good girls don't smother their boyfriends."

"It's good that I'm not good then."

He smirks at her before leaning closer to her face, planting a soft kiss on her warm lips before pulling away. The stillness around them puts him at ease, making him think that he doesn't have to be cold. Her hands stroke his face and his hands capture hers in a near vice.

Those blue eyes pierce into hers, making her forget to breathe.

"I don't think I can love you the way you want me to. Because of that, you'll leave me. That's what I'm afraid of and I won't say it again."

If it had been anyone else, she would have told him that she couldn't do this. If it had been anyone else though, she wouldn't be here to begin with. She knows what it must have taken for him to admit even that bit to her. With her fingers still wrapped in his grip near his face, she leans forward and kisses him, letting him know that she's still with him.

The acknowledgement of fear had been one that he knew she needed to hear, and that he needed to say. A moment of clarity for both of them, each holding onto the thin strands of life and wishes, is all that keeps them together, but it's enough. As the softness of her lips fades away, he releases her hands, feeling the warmth of her own gradually dim.

"Go on to bed."

"Are you coming?"

He brushes a lock of her soft, dark hair, "Not yet."

As her footsteps fade in his ears until silence finally condemns him, he sits hunched over his piano. A man never changes, and he's always believed that, but now, change is what she needs. Change is what he can't give her. Thinking that, his skillful hands walk lazily across a few keys before finding themselves lost in a full blown orchestration of sound and echo.

* * *

A/N: Well, we're getting closer to something...that's not exactly good. I'm going with my gut with this new idea and will be writing it soon. Thanks for sticking with me and hope you'll go just a little further as well. 


	15. I never told you why I stayed

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed._

"I heard you and Dr. Cameron are dating."

He folds his hands together and rests them in his lap, staring at the woman who had broken him over five years ago.

"Three months and she hasn't killed me yet."

She smiles and puts her hands together, puts them at her sides, puts them on her hips. Hesitantly, the woman sits in one of the chairs near his desk.

"What do you want, Stacy?"

"Mark…I told him what happened." She breathes deep, averting her face away from his to the ball on his desk. "I couldn't keep it from him. He told me to leave him. He doesn't want anything to do with me after that, after you."

The silence between them is deafening to her ears. The question between them is deafening to his ears. He watches as she fiddles with the cross adorning her neck and looks away just as quick to his hands. He's been fine without her. Almost a year and the memory of her has begun to wash away from the walls of his heart. Cameron. She's the one who's been waiting all along, waiting until the memory is gone and his walls are bare.

"Well, what do you want with me? I thought you got all you wanted."

"No, you're the one who pushed me away. I was happy, Greg, with Mark. I was managing with all the burdens, but you…you couldn't leave it alone. And now…this time it's me who can't leave it be."

He watches as she stands, almost as if moving with the cautiousness of a woman handling an atomic bomb on her back. Without taking her eyes off of him, she places her hands on his cluttered desk of knickknacks, and he can't help but look away from the intensity.

"Do you know how hard it was to have my heart torn out of my chest?"

"I imagine it felt something like having an infarction. Probably felt like someone you loved betrayed you. Felt like you were left in the dust."

She sighs, her shoulders sag and she pushes away from the desk.

"I don't know what to do. I can't forget you." She raises her hands dejectedly, "And I can't help but still love you. The son of a bitch and I still can't help but love…you."

"Stacy-."

"No," she whispers as she walks around his desk and stands before him. Shakily, her hands rest on his shoulders, making sure he can't leave before she continues. "Greg, tell me you can forget our history. Tell me these past months you haven't thought once about how stupid we both were."

He blinks at her gaze, unsure of what feelings are rising inside of him. Part of him knows he can't be with her. Part of him knows he doesn't want her. Part of him still wonders about her.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Cameron."

She looks away from the centrifuge towards Foreman.

"What is it? The blood's almost ready to test."

At his hesitation, she frowns before taking off her glasses. There's a lonely beep as one of the machines have results to diligently give. She hears his intake of breath, sees the slight bite of the lip, feels his nervousness.

"Foreman," she takes a few short steps forward, "what's wrong?"

"Have you heard anything?"

"About what? I've been in here nearly the entire morning."

"Cameron, I just walked past House's office."

"And?" she laughs. "Don't tell me he was actually working."

"No," he rubs a hand at his temple. "Stacy was there."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"I know you're with Cameron. I'm not trying to push you. I just…you're the one and I can't let that go even though I've tried."

She drifts closer to him, knowing he won't push her away now. "Don't make my mistake of trying to move on if you're still stuck."

With their mouths a scant two inches apart, he knows what's coming. He knows she's going to kiss and he knows he shouldn't. He knows this, but she was the only one he'd wanted for so long. How can he forget that? And even though the image of another comes to his mind, and he almost flinches from Stacy's touch, he figures Cameron would at least have a reason to leave him now.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

She doesn't do anything. She doesn't say anything. For a stupid moment, she thinks she's day dreaming. For a heartbreaking breath, she realizes she's not. And when she realizes that, she turns away from his office, hand pressed to her mouth and shouldering Foreman out of her way. As she reaches the bathroom, she flings herself into the stall so that her suddenly raging stomach finds relief. Flushing the toilet with one hand, she reaches for paper with the other and cleans her mouth. The vile taste still lacing her teeth, she leans her hand back against the stall, listening as a steady drip of water comes from one of the sinks.

The tile is cold beneath her butt, the toilet even colder against her drawn up thigh. She's not a child. She's not a lovesick teenager. She's a woman. So what is she doing hiding in a bathroom stall?

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He swings the door open violently, knowing he's disturbed them, but knowing that's part of his plan anyways. Foreman watches as she straightens immediately, making space between her and his boss. He walks the few steps to House's desk, feeling rage about to burst from his veins as he slaps down the lab results, never taking his eyes from the old man.

"Cameron got the results."

Her name brings him down soundly to the ground. Her name filters to his mind and he can't help but glance at Stacy before looking to the results.

"Mrs. Warner, I need to speak to House about a case."

"Yes, we'll I'll go then." She grabs her jacket and pauses before walking out. "Greg…we aren't done."

The door closes and Foreman clinches his fists before daring to look back at House.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Calm down, Foreman."

"No! Screwing Stacy while you were single is one thing! Screwing her while seeing Cameron is a completely different thing!"

"We're not screwing," he mutters as he picks up the results only to have Foreman snatch them from his hand.

"So what? Her lips just tripped over yours accidentally?"

House sighs, a headache forming between his eyes. Damn the man if he wasn't making sense. What the hell did he think? Did Foreman really think he wanted to be dating Cameron and have Stacy wind up in his office?

Foreman walks around the desk formidably. "What are you going to tell Cameron? You going to break her heart after the hell she's been through? Son of a bitch I swear to God-."

"What?! What are you going to do?"

Without even thinking, he pulls his boss forward by his t-shirt until they're eye to eye and breathing the same breaths. Right now, they're not employer and employee. Right now, they're attacker and protector.

"You are going to make up your mind, old man. And I swear to God, if you lie to Cameron, I will kick your crippled ass. I'd rather lose my job than work for you after doing this to her."

* * *

A/N: Okay...yeah, I know i know! but i really believe stacy is coming back sometime before the series end bc TPTB can't possible be finished with her storyline with house. and don't give up yet. I am 100percent house/cam...but this is a defining moment...for both of them. 


	16. But then again, neither did you

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you._

She doesn't stop. She packs her clothes, pins up her still wet hair, and finally walks into the kitchen for orange juice. She takes a small and harsh drink, fighting the urge to let it fall hollowly to the floor. Her eyes catch the small light blue album lying on the counter near the sink. She doesn't stop. A small flick of the wrist and she locks her door, not bothering to look back at the place she's come to call home for the past three years. She doesn't stop. A turn of her hand and the engine starts with a purr, not letting on of the troubles it's had for so long. She doesn't stop. Her foot presses down on the gas, drinking the joy of feeling the air through the rolled down windows. She doesn't stop. The last turn out of Princeton and she feels herself falling ever so softly into trepidation. The yield sign beside her, she knows what running away is. This is it. She doesn't stop.

* * *

"She never leaves her stuff here." 

It's something he's just now realizing. She never leaves her stuff here. He'd thought it was good. It meant she knew he wasn't serious. It meant he could keep his distance.

"Did you ever ask her to?"

Wilson leans forward on his tired elbows, watching his friend with something close to restraint. He's pissed at him right now. He had finally let someone in, and he'd screwed it up, as usual.

"No. Didn't want her to."

"Then why do you care?"

"I don't."

* * *

A few more hours, the radio refusing to let her remember him, she smiles. For what reason, she doesn't know, but she does all the same. It's freeing. It's rare. It's her. It's never him.

* * *

He waits by the counter, not knowing what to say. She's been gone for almost a day. Lost to him after one o'clock at work, claiming vacation time. He knows better. So does the woman standing opposite him.

"Greg, I'm sorry that she left. I know it's hard."

He stares at her, wondering if she really cares. He knows she does, somewhat, but it's not enough. Not anymore.

"You came back for me? Me only?"

She softly laughs and leans forward. "You're the only one here. You're the only one everywhere."

"Why would you possibly want me back after I told you to go?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"Do you ever have that feeling where you can't breathe? You just can't breathe because you're thinking about that one somebody who you hate, and love, and wish you could quit thinking of. That's who you are. I breathe, and every time, it's you. I can't get away from that."

He doesn't have that feeling. He never did, not even with her. He doesn't know what it feels like, and he finds himself wanting it. And only one woman drifts from the embers of his disheveled memory. Only one, and she's gone.

* * *

She keeps on, not bothering to stop even though she should be sleeping. Her adrenaline has not let her down. Her memory keeps running, trying to forget what she doesn't want to remember. But even she knows her limitations, and so she pulls into the motel station for the rest of the listless night. 

Her album in her lap, she wants to open it, but knows whose face she'll see. His, and maybe hers, but his face, she doesn't want to see, which is exactly why she opens it to some random page, praying to some force that it's blank. It's not. It's one simple photo of them taken when a motorcycle show came to town. She's sitting awkwardly on the bike, a frown on her face, trying to keep her balance with one foot on the ground even though the stand is still down. And then there's him, smiling rarely as he tries to put on the bright yellow helmet and she's pushing him away with her free hand.

* * *

"What do we do now?" 

He doesn't say anything for the longest silent moment. He knocks his knuckles against the cold and hard countertop, counting the knocks to focus his mind. A long breath escapes him, and he doesn't know what to do. The woman he's been obsessing over is here. The woman he's been wanting as come back. The woman he hates…is still gone.

"I think…I'm stuck, Stacy."

"You're what?"

Too afraid, though he won't admit it, he doesn't look at her. Instead, he looks down at his hands, wondering why Cameron likes them so much. She always comments on them, always wants to touch them, and he doesn't know why. He wants to know why.

"You said, 'don't make my mistake of trying to move forward if you're still stuck.' I'm stuck, but I don't want to be. I don't want to be."

She leans back, suddenly realizing for the first time, that she's too late. She's done too much. He's done too much. Somewhere, they just moved too far, and sometimes, it's just too much.

"This time, it's not you I'm stuck on." He pauses gravely before looking back up, not knowing what he'll see.

"Oh."

"She never leaves her stuff here."

* * *

She doesn't stop. Day two and it's nearing evening. The sun crests upon the green hills untouched by man and his tools. The air wafts by, where in the city, it seems to still and turn stiff. A few more minutes and she can feel her bones begin to ache from anticipation and nervousness. She doesn't stop. The radio long turned off, she listens as the birds call savagely from the trees. The steady hum of life beyond Princeton fills her long hurt ears with something she didn't realize she missed. She doesn't stop. A few more miles and the object of her journey lies just beyond the small rise. She doesn't stop. Finally, she sees the pillars of marble and simple concrete rising from the recently tended grass and dirt. She doesn't stop. A little further and she sees the plot where he should be. She doesn't stop. Another moment and she slows down, knowing she'll park on the soft ground instead of driving through the winding mazes of death. A long sigh escapes her shakily. She stops.

* * *

A/N: Well, after a week of being back home in the boondocks, it feels good to be back to city life with wireless high speed internet. lol. Sorry for the wait but dial up where I live is pretty much a flip of the coin. Anways, thanks for reviews and for sticking with me. 


	17. I never told you why I cry

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry._

Without even thinking about it, she traces the name etched in the cold stone. Her fingertips feel slow and dirty compared to the block that declares her dead husband lies beneath her. Looking up, she finds the clouds beginning to hover over her. Rain will pour sometime, but not now. Let her have her moment.

Nothing has brought her here. Nothing has kept her gone. Nothing keeps her anywhere. A struggling weed attempts to break through the ground and while her first instinct is to tear it away, she hesitates. This is life. It's ugly sometimes, and there are always weeds trying to sprout. That's fine.

* * *

He stares at the whiteboard, trying to forget why he's trying to forget. The blue marks sling violently to one side, his anger evident and forceful. The markers lay in their stand, and one lone green marker is still on the floor. If there was anything he wanted to figure out, it was him. It was why he had to push her away, and why she let herself.

* * *

The small bouquet of yellow daffodils is going to wilt, but she doesn't mind. He's dead and gone, he won't mind. She leans on her arm, gazing over the other head stones dotting the solitary graveyard. So many people are gone, lost to the earth that hides them from everyone else. So many people that will never know what it is to love again, to smile again, to hurt again.

She doesn't believe in an afterlife, but he did. Which is why she had cried on the day they'd buried him. He believed in that, and so did she to an extent, before then. Now though, she doesn't. When the earth took him, it took that part of her too. It doesn't make her feel sad that she doesn't believe in God, but it makes her feel sad that he believed in it so fully, and she had almost betrayed him with his best friend.

* * *

Another day goes by, and while he won't say he misses her, he does. The quiet of the conference room isn't her. The warmness in his office doesn't exist because of her. The emptiness of his apartment stifles because of her. She makes everything the way he used to want it. She makes everything turn and change, and he doesn't want that. He wants things to stay the same, knowing they can't.

He sits there, alone, unaware, concentrating on his leg that's been hurting the worst it has in months. His leg is his conscience, beating him until he's down, making him sweat with breathtaking pain. The pills he had begun to take less of, come back full force with an unsatisfied quench.

* * *

By night, she realizes how long she's been out here, laying on the soft dewy grass with the smallest sprinkles of rain dotting her face. With one final longing look at the simple head stone, she comes near to it and rests her forehead upon the coolness. He's gone. He was her true love, or so she had told herself for so many lonely years. Can she face the truth? Not yet. And so she stands, wiping her tired face before walking back down the path to her car.

The thunder rolls heavily atop her head before the downpour begins in such a wrathful fury that for a second she halts, surprised that she can barely see before her. And even though she's nearly blind, she begins to run. She runs without thought, without reservation, and without fear.

* * *

They stare at each other across the room. She has come back. He is still here. She had missed nearly five work days. He had counted every minute without realizing it. They haven't spoken one word since she walked into the room nearly an ago, reporting for work, she had told Foreman.

He can see the circles under her eyes. As he rests one hand upon the whiteboard, he lets the other rest gingerly on his cane. He won't make a move, mostly because he wants her to decide, mostly because he's too afraid to take the first step.

She breathes, wondering how it seems so easy. He doesn't look any different, and he doesn't act any different, but something has morphed subtly. She breathes again before leaning somewhat on the table she's been sitting at since she first took on this job.

"I can breathe," she says as she looks at him. "It hurts, but I can breathe."

For some reason he can't explain, he casts his gaze away from her serene face to look at the glass windows framing the conference room. From here, he catches himself, an old man, broken and tired, but alive.

"Where'd you go?"

Her silence whispers tauntingly in his ear. It envelops him in such a way he feels as if she's suffocating him herself.

"Somewhere I could think," is all she can manage, not wanting to relinquish the secret she's kept shrouded in mystery of her husband.

While he knows he doesn't deserve more, he wishes she would answer the question. He's never told her much of anything, why would she tell him everything? And so, he tells her something.

"I still hate you, Cameron," he mutters, fighting the urge to dig into his pocket for the vicodin so his leg, and maybe his heart, will stop pounding. "I told Stacy that. I told her," he drifts off, wanting to see her expression.

He finds himself stunned when she smiles. She smiles as if she doesn't have a care in the world, as if her shoulders carry no weight. It's a smile he's never seen. And suddenly, it fades and her eyes pierce into his with brilliance. It's the look of seriousness and darkness he's only found within himself, until now.

"Someday," she says with the slightest tremble of sound, "I'll ask you why you stayed. And you'll tell me."

He doesn't know what to say to her. She's staying with him? She forgives him? From the look on her face, he doesn't think so. But she's willing to stay with him, and while it frightens him just a touch, it also comforts him in a way he's needed since the beginning.

"Why did you stay then?" he asks without moving.

She shakes her head. Right now, they just have to survive however they can. Someday there will be a right time for everything. Maybe by then, they'll both be ready to tell each other their pain. And so, she gives him the only answer she knows is truthful, "Because I still hate you."

They stare at each other across the room. Both of them back.

* * *

A/N: Well, to answer some questions then. Have you ever felt like you had no bloody clue what to do? I mean, no clue at all and everything was happening at once, and you don't know what to do? And so, you run away, mostly because it's the only thing you can control. You go and think without talking to anyone, seeing anyone, being alone so you can just...be and think. That's why she ran. Why she came back? Well, I like to believe she's a fighter, and she knows House well enough to know she's got to take the first step.

Anyways, end of writing that whole jumbo paragraph lol. So, thanks again for keeping up with me and hopefully, for sticking around.


	18. But you already knew

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew._

"What's this about?" she asks as she pulls on the red boxing gloves Foreman had given House as a birthday present.

He looks at the oversized gloves on her slender arms and can't fight the smile as he slyly reaches for her digital camera between their hips on the sofa.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

She frowns and pumps her hands together, causing him to chuckle at the motion. Hearing it, she punches the air, hoping to hear his laugh before realizing he's holding the camera to his face, ready to take her picture.

"No!" She holds the gigantic gloves to her face, successfully blocking his attempt of gaining her picture.

"Too late." He smirks as he looks down at the small screen to see her quizzical brow drawn and a solid right hook to her invisible enemy. "Now _this_ is something that's going to have to be put up at the hospital."

"House, you better not."

"What are you going to do, Rocky?"

She glances down to her red fists, suddenly reminded of fighting her brother in the hot dirt when she was seven years old. She tastes the sweat mingled with hot sand as she tackled him to the ground and each trying to hold their own. He'd laughed as she tickled him, she'd shouted as he rolled over and pinned her down with that grin before letting her once more win the fight.

He catches the small expression before she remembers he's watching her.

"Cameron?"

"What? Oh, I just," she sighs and raises a fist to her head, intending to rub her forehead, but forgetting the glove and instead hitting herself.

"Maybe Rocky is too much of a compliment," he says as she laughs at herself.

Shaking her head, she moves to sit on his lap, making sure she doesn't put too much of her weight on his right thigh. She feels his hands slowly come around her waist, almost tentatively. Not bothering to take off his boxing gloves, she places them behind his neck, not able to hold them together.

While she looks at him, he wonders if she's about to ask him something he won't be able to give. The look on her face just moments ago gives him pause, as if waiting for some inevitable doom to tear her away from him. Instead, she smiles and leans in closer, planting one of the softest touches upon his lips that she's ever given him. It's brief, calm, gentle, loving.

"Was it really that bad?"

Confused, he takes a moment to answer her simple question. He should be used to this by now. Every now and then, she always catches him off guard. He sighs dramatically and shivers, pulling her even closer to him.

"I'll never be able to sleep again. Foreman was actually…nice to me. Chase was just weird and did you see the way he kept looking at us? And Cuddy, she was like the exorcist girl."

She rolls her eyes. "What about Wilson then?"

"What about him?"

"Is he the only one you didn't mind being there?"

"Is my Cameron getting jealous of my Jimmy?"

"What? No, I wasn't."

"I think you are. Look at you, it's written all over that face of yours."

"That's ridiculous."

"Maybe your fears are well founded."

"Really?" She leans in closer to gingerly bite his lower lip, smiling when he tries to capture her lips but she moves away to his stubbled jaw. She's always liked his stubble. It's scratchy, and it can hurt if too rough, but it's him.

"Is Wilson still your favorite now?"

"What makes you think he's never done this?"

She can't help but laugh against his neck. It's a strong laugh. It's the laugh he's only been hearing today. It's one that makes him want to hold her closer just to feel her laugh against his chest, but he doesn't.

"It wasn't that bad," he admits against her shoulder. "Just don't tell anyone I said that or I'll sic Jimmy on you for real."

"He loves me, he wouldn't do that."

"Ah, is there something you're not telling me?"

"Well, we didn't want to make you jealous, but Wilson and I are in love. We're running away next Tuesday to get married in Vegas."

"Take an umbrella, it's supposed to rain."

"Oh, shut-," but she doesn't finish because he meets her lips.

"I still…have one…more…present," she says in between his kisses.

"It better be a good one."

Getting up, she takes off the red gloves and throws it at him before heading to his piano and trying to calm her nerves.

He limps forward, interested in what she has up her sleeve. As she sits on the bench and looks over her shoulder at him, he can't help but want to stop. Stop and turn around, telling her that it's just too much, but then he sees the nervous twitch of her foot, and keeps on walking.

"What are you up to?"

She grins at him, motions for him to sit beside her, and then breathes out. She wants to do this one simple thing for him. She wants to do it perfectly, but knows she won't. Maybe that's alright. With just the slightest tremble, she carefully picks a 'C' to begin.

His eyes briefly close as she plays the first bar of Happy Birthday. Another year, another turn, another day, and here she is, the only new thing, the only good thing. What is he going to do? He realizes, for the first time, how old he is. He realizes, not for the first time, his mortality, and how he's slowly creeping across the threshold to death. But not her. She's still young and new, not even halfway through her life, sacrificing it for him.

She finishes with a small hint of satisfaction in her eyes as she knows she played the song nearly perfect for him. When he doesn't say anything, she turns slightly to look at him.

"What did you think, House?"

Because he can, because it would surprise her, he brings his hand to her face and lets his thumb rest on her cheek. Seeing her smile suddenly, he forgets the past two weeks of quiet awkwardness and silent questions of where they go from here.

"You did good, kid."

"Thank you…Greg."

He frowns, she frowns, and each shakes their head.

"A little weird, wasn't it?"

"You have no idea…Allison."

She grins. "Come on, House."

And while he wants to tell her to call him by his name again, he holds his tongue and lets her help him up. While he wants to call her by her name again, he knows there will be other times. It's another small step, one of their own, and no one else's.

* * *

A/N: And I'm just re-reading this, and realizing how much they're smiling and laughing...i think it's the most they've done. Anyways, I guess this is more just fluff and good times, because we all need a break from the angst i think, but it's going to be coming back, don't worry...or maybe you don't want the angst...hhhmmmm. lol. anyways, i'll quit jabbering now. Thanks everyone! 


	19. I never told you that my heart broke

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. _

The silence, the type that doesn't intrude upon memories, floats wearily without asking for anything, the type that merely exists without meaning, leaves her drained. It shouldn't, but it does. It does the same way swimming too long in April cold waters chills to the bone, or the way a blistering heat stomps through July with halting humidity as a lover.

It's not enough that he sees her there on the floor. It's not enough that she doesn't hear him coming to her. It's not enough that she's running away from him, when he's finally walking to her. She's drowning, and he sees it as clearly on her stilled face as he sometimes sees etched on his worn face.

Even as her eyes open and she gazes up at him, he knows she's not seeing him. He can feel her slowly have to wrangle herself away from wherever her mind has been led before truly noticing him. With the most subtle of movements, he watches her hands try to cover the album cover, almost protectively. The look on her face conveys a momentary glance of fear and anger, only to be replaced by the look of the woman he's known so well for the past six months.

He knows he should go back to her bed, wait for her to sort this out, but she's been disappearing too long. Any longer, and she'll lose herself. To what? He's not quite sure, but it's evident she's fighting against him, against her, for him, for her. And so he doesn't go back to her bed. He doesn't wait for her to invite him. Sitting down beside her, he tells himself this is for her. Not knowing it's as much for him in every sense.

It's the tear that falls that shakes her free. She feels it leisurely caressing her cheek before falling into the corner of her mouth and tasting salt. Because she can't look at him with someone else within the pages of this album, she stares forward, hoping he won't tease just this once.

"Your leg is hurting more, isn't it?"

"Yes," he answers as he stares into the empty space before him. "What are you doing?"

She looks down at the album in her lap. "Remembering."

He doesn't say anything. He turns his head and watches as her hand slightly trembles as she fingers the edges of the bound photo album. He knows that for once, he has to tread lightly.

"You have to let it go eventually."

A breath escapes her savagely and she looks at him with nothing hiding behind her worn eyes. What does he know of it? Nothing.

"He was my husband. I loved him."

"Do you still?"

"Yes," she whispers with the faintest breath.

"No," he pauses, wondering if she'll listen him after this. "No, you don't."

"What? How can you say that? He was the love of my life."

The thought never occurred to him that she would end up breaking him, and especially not like this. He'd never even considered it would hurt him, but he finds out the hard way, it does. It's why he continues bluntly, when he should be softer.

"He's dead, Cameron. Gone."

"I know."

"You can't quit living because once a year you remember him dying."

"I'm not trivializing his death."

"Yes, you are. He wasn't perfect and you certainly weren't either. And he wasn't the love of you life or you wouldn't have almost cheated on him. You wouldn't be here with me."

If it hadn't been true, she would have walked away then. If it hadn't been the thought that had been walking in her mind as well, she would have left him without looking back, but it had been. He'd said what she was too afraid to.

"Changing me is something you can never do. Accepting me is what I hold to you. Believing in you is all I hope. Seeing in you what I try to grope. Holding on won't keep me here. Carrying on won't hold me dear."

It's just a small poem, something he'd heard a while back and kept in his memory because he knew it was her. She'd kept the memory alive, but sometimes, it needs to die, so someone else can survive.

She lowers her head, refusing to cry because she's cried enough. Instead, she nods her head slowly before resting the album on the small table in front of her. She's angry at him. She's angry because he's told her the truth, and she's been hiding from the truth for the longest space of time.

He helps her back to the room, his leg screaming in agony, but he doesn't care. As he lies beside her, she instinctively reaches for his warmth, and he lets his arms come around her in one gentle motion. This isn't over. The ghost of her husband, but he's saved her for tonight and that's enough.

* * *

Before he leaves the bedroom, alone because she gets to work on time and he doesn't, he looks down at the black bag full of his things. He turns, the soft tug of hesitancy keeping him here. Carefully, he walks back to her nightstand and unzips his bag. He draws out his sleeping clothes: a regular white t-shirt and flannel bottoms. He silently debates the action while holding the clothes in his hands before telling himself to get over it.

* * *

She gets home after work, wanting to shower before going to his place, when she walks into her bedroom. She pulls open the small drawer where she keeps her lotion and without even thinking, she steps back. Even though he's not here, she looks behind her, almost as if she doesn't want to be caught. She picks the shirt and pants out and sits on her bed. He's left them here.

* * *

The next day, he wakes, and even though he knows she's gone, he still turns over to look at where she usually lays. For a moment, he doesn't move. He just looks at the big t-shirt she wears to bed folded over her shorts. He closes his eyes. Finally, she's left something.

* * *

A/N: sorry for the long wait...I had brainlock...writer's block. And while I was thinking more fluff would be good...it's about to get very angsty. Anyways, thanks you guys! 


	20. But it wasn't why you cared

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. But it wasn't why you cared. _

He's made the small, casual talk. How's the weather? How is he? Is everything fine? If you don't count the enormous amount of vicodin he's been sloshing down his mouth every time she mentions his parents or this lunch for the past few days, he's fine. He's talked to his mother more than his father, who sits and sips from his water occasionally. The only thing different from last time, is that they're asking about the new woman. How is she? How are things going? Are you being serious with her? Does she take care of you?

Considering they're brushing a long year together, he thinks things are going fine. He also thinks she should hurry her tail up so he won't have to sit here with anxiousness as a companion. On the other hand, as he stares at the hard man opposite him, he doesn't want her to come. She'll see his father and then she'll ask more questions that he can't answer.

"Hi, I'm so sorry I'm late. I couldn't get away from a patient."

"Don't worry about it Allison. I'm glad you're joining us this time."

She slightly blushes, nodding at his mother and remembering the last time his parents had come down and asked her to join them. Such a long time ago, a life time ago.

"It's about time he got settled again. After the last time I didn't think it'd ever happen again."

"John, we don't have to bring that up."

"No, mom, it's okay. Cameron doesn't mind."

"Cameron? Why don't you call her by her name?"

"I really don't mind," she interrupts. "We worked together for so long that it just seems more comfortable this way."

Even as she smiles as she looks at him, she can feel the tension radiating from his stiff body. He glances at her, almost thankfully, before letting it fade into the deep that she's coming to know well.

"That's such a nice outfit, Allison. Maybe you should dress Greg."

She laughs with Blythe as they nod their heads. "Thank you. And I can't even get him to brush his hair much less pick out his clothes."

"People like the way I dress. I like the way I dress. Cameron likes it. Why fix what ain't broke?"

"Watch your attitude, son."

"Or what? Are you going to drag me out of here? Paddle me? Take away my blanket?"

His father merely glances at him before beginning to eat his meal as if nothing had happened. They all eat in silence, none of them knowing exactly what to say considering the tension that has mounted without help.

* * *

He curls his fingers around the white napkin one more time before he feels her hand softly brush his thigh. He picks up the cup full of hot coffee and lets the liquid scald his tongue and burn down his throat, silently relishing the pain because he forgets for a moment who they sit with.

"I have to go to the restroom."

"I'll join you, Allison, if you don't mind."

His anchor is gone and without her, he finds himself floating along the water dangerously free.

"What do you think you're doing with her?"

"What is that supposed to mean, dad?"

He points his fork at his son. "I know you, Greg. I see the way she looks at you and I see the way you look at her. It's not the same. If you're leading her on for your own…relief, then you need to let her go. She has a chance."

"She wants me. End of story."

"Not quite, son. You're not right for her. She's everything you're not. She'll get tired of the way you are, and you know that."

"And how am _I_?"

"Bitter, conceited, annoying, crippled. You have no boundaries. And you don't know how to be happy. I think she should have chance of that, but from what I've seen of you now, I still don't think you can give that to her. You can't even let go of your pills."

He smiles sourly down into his plate, his hand lightly holding the metal fork with the carelessness he's always known, before placing it down onto the table etched with deep vine pattern. With a swift motion of arm and hand, he grabs his faithful cane and because he wants to resist saying anything else to his father, he limps away, knowing the sight will anger him.

* * *

"Go on," Blythe sighs, knowing her son needs his woman.

And she almost does. Almost. But this is the man she's fought long and hard for, the one who will undoubtedly be the death of her, and she will not have any other person take what little he has.

"I thought…that I was missing something about you. I've asked him about you, and he never gives me a definite answer. All this time, I've wondered what it is that keeps him away from everybody, even from me. He's as wary as he is strong, and he never stops or gives up on anything. It's an attribute that I wish we all had, especially you."

She pauses, knowing something dark lies beneath the surface of this man, just like his son.

"His _life_ is the hospital. He tries his best everyday and I know some days it's the hardest thing for him to do, but he does it anyways. He doesn't need anyone's approval for anything because he doesn't care about the vanity of others. You're his father. You should be proud of him. I am."

* * *

"How bad was it today?"

"A little worse than yesterday," he says without looking at her as she sits on the edge of the bed, watching as he delves once more into his vicodin. To be honest, his leg is consuming more of his time than usual. The memory of his father may be the culprit, but he doesn't want her to know. It's a weakness he's not ready to show her because it may be what breaks her away from him.

She sighs, her gaze wandering to the far wall before coming back to where she sits near his feet, wanting to comfort him before they go to sleep, but knowing he doesn't need that. No, what he needs rests beside him on his nightstand beside the clock. It stands in that small cylindrical vial that beckons with relief and enjoyment, something she apparently can't give.

"Thank you," he mumbles into the darkness. He's not sure for what, but when she crawls from the foot of the bed to lay beside him with her hand on his shoulder like she always does, he's sure that it's because she loves him without asking him if he loves her. His father is wrong, and if he believed in hope, it would all end with her.

She doesn't know what he thanks her for. Standing up for him, for herself, for staying with him even when she doesn't want to. Maybe for it all, or maybe that's just what she hopes. She never knows with him, and maybe that's alright.

* * *

A/N: Finally! I've been ready to post for days but ff is...on crack...bigtiiime. And as I was skulking for a few precious moments on the House boards, I got my delightful answer for how to update. Yes. Score! lol, anyways, here it is...and the Chameroness is over. Thank gods for that cause I just couldn't...see how that worked. anyways. Thanks everyone!


	21. I never told you why I lied

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. But it wasn't why you cared. I never told you why I lied. _

He watches her pause in the hallway, her eyes focused on his through the glass walls that shield his office from the rest of the hollow hospital. The file slightly trembles in her hand before her chin rises nearly imperceptibly. He would have been proud of her if it had been for any other reason than this. Any other time would have been infinitely better, but not now.

"Give me my medicine, Cameron."

The door closes behind her with a soft whoosh of cool air that misses her. She keeps her head high, back straight, face stern, heart closed. She won't back down now, not after all this time.

"Cameron, I'm not going to ask for it again. Give it to me!"

Without answering him, she drops the file on his desk, hoping the sharp whisper of paper against paper will get through to him.

"Fifteen year old boy showing sign-."

As the cane meets solid wood an inch from her chilled hand, her heart stops and her breath catches with a gasp. The sound reverberates in her ears before his voice intrudes.

"I don't care about the damn file! I need my pills!"

She pauses, staring at the man she doesn't know. "Why don't you go to the pharmacy?"

"You know damn well I can't! They were told by someone of a higher power to withhold any medication for a Dr. House. I wonder how that happened!"

"You don't need them."

"I don't need them? I don't-what do you know?"

He limps closer to her, his cane left forgotten on his cluttered desk. His steps are slow, measured, labored, but he goes to her until they're breaths apart, chests nearly meeting as each breath is exhaled.

"You don't know what it's like to be in pain for 24 hours a day, every day of every shit week. Those pills are all that keep me going."

"Then learn to keep going without them."

"I can't!"

"You haven't even tried!"

"I went to rehab and that didn't work!"

"You went to rehab to get Tritter off of your ass! I know good and well that you didn't go for too long without your precious Vicodin!"

Her breaths echo in his ears as she dares him to say anything else. He doesn't care however, how far he'll push her. In this haze, nothing is right and nothing is clear to him. All he wants is for the aching pain, nearly making him feverish, to walk into the depths of drug induced memory.

"Then you know I-I can't do it!"

The crack in his usually deep, firm voice makes her close her eyes.

"Please…give me my pills, Cameron."

And then it falls. Her eyes flush open and she can feel herself take a step back from his dark presence. This is not the man she respects and loves. This is the man she hates and despises whenever he comes through. It's the one who deceives without qualms, without guilt, without care.

"No."

The word snaps him in half before he even realizes it. His hands grasp her upper arms without conscious thought. Long fingers dig into the smooth skin beneath the white, crisp coat she always wears.

"Don't do this to me."

"I have to, House. I love you."

"You can't love me _and_ do this to me!"

"I can."

"What? Do you really think you can change me? I'm not going to give anything up because you think you're doing some good for the world! I'd rather have my pills than you!"

She feels the blood being cut off by his forceful grips, but as soon as his mouth closes, she's sure the blood is all but drained from her.

"You will do this _without_ those damn pills."

His face, angry and demanding, keeps its façade of rage and hate. There's nothing more for her to say to him, mostly because her heart has just been lit on fire with a single spark of light brought from his arson laced tongue.

The room closes in on him, singling out his heated words until he hears them repeating over in his clouded mind. There. He's said it. Something he understands too late, he can't take back, and she'll never forget. Her face doesn't change, except for her eyes and her mouth. Her mouth tightens in that line that means she's holding her tongue because she doesn't know what to say. Her eyes tear for just a brief moment before staring back at him with the hurt and strength of a woman who has loved one Gregory House.

His mouth opens to command her to give in.

She shakes her head and walks away from him.

His gaze wanders to the floor where two books lay with missing pages and empty cavities where secret stashes used to hide. No more.

She keeps walking, telling herself this is for his own good. This is so he lives to see many more days, and she can see them with him.

His hand goes to his leg, mourning the loss of Vicodin and stinging with hurt that she had used everyone who knew him to uncover his hiding spots.

She goes to Wilson, her heart aching with words humming strongly. He watches her, understanding, as she leans harshly against the door, and she wishes he didn't.

"He'll hate you for this."

"Yeah," she smiles as a woman who knows her fate while the tears of regret begin to shine in her wounded eyes, "I know."

His chances are exhausted. The only thing left is his morphine, and he doesn't care if it means he loses her. He sits, his screaming leg needing a rest before making the long walk back to his bike. This is it.

* * *

A/N: ooooh, don't hate me. So...this is where I've been wanting to go for a while now and there was no point in waiting so long since...it was already done. Well, anyone see that coming? Now I know, I know, that was soo wrong and evil, but...this is the only chapter that I have known was going to happen since the beginning and I couldn't turn away. Well, thanks for reviews and I know some of you might have your own opinion...but never give up...


	22. Nothing would ever change

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. But it wasn't why you cared. I never told you why I lied. Nothing would ever change. _

"What are you doing?"

"I'm making sure you don't make the biggest mistake of your life."

He leans heavily upon his trusty cane, trying to shield his face from the blaring reminder of sunlight. Wilson stands beside him, having walked with him from his office to the parking lot. Without saying anything, he digs into his pocket and pulls out the shining key that will take him to heaven.

Or that was the plan.

"Hey! What? Give that back!"

Wilson deftly pockets the key from his somewhat shaky fingers and wonders if a punch is not far behind.

"House, you can't drive."

"Well the state of New Jersey thinks I can. Now give it back before I go tell mommy the good kid is taunting the crippled boy."

"You're in no condition to be driving. I'm guessing you took your last vicodin this morning and you're so anxious to get home because you've got some secret _secret_ drug somewhere, since I know you don't have any swiped pills on you now."

If he hadn't had just said regrettable words to the woman who had stayed with him through rhinoviruses and L word episodes, he would have fought him.

"Alright," he sighs, "We'll play Driving Miss Daisy."

* * *

She watches from the window, her hand to her mouth, picking at her lip because she has nothing better to do. As he gets into Wilson's car, she mentally sighs in something close to thankfulness and bitterness. 

"Cameron? Where's House?"

" Wilson's…taking him home."

"Oh," Foreman manages to say before seeing her slump into the chair House usually dictates to them in. "What's wrong?"

While part of her doesn't think he has any right to know, he's the closest thing to family she has right now. And so while she tells him about her plan, she expects him to tell her whether she did the right thing. That is what family is for, isn't it? To tell you what you should do?

"He needs to get off them. He needs to."

He's silent for a few beats, wondering if she wants a real answer or some fake platitude that she wants to hear so she can placate herself. Because he doesn't want to give her false hope when it concerns House, he shakes his head.

"Maybe. Look," he continues as she frowns at him. "In a perfect world, yeah, House wouldn't be a junky. He'd get off vicodin and be little miss sunshine."

"You're taking up for him? You think he should keep abusing?"

"I'm not saying that, Cameron. He's a complete jerk, and what you see in him, I'll never know; but it doesn't mean I won't protect you like I've done before. You just need to understand that this addiction, it's not just an addiction to him. It's home, it's comfortable, it's pleasure. Taking that away from him…is going to make him hate you and push you away."

She leans forward on her elbows and starts to rub the headache forming at her temples.

"Do you think he can do it?"

He looks at her, noticing for the first time how deep she's willing to go for the man everyone thinks of as an ass. Maybe there could be hope.

"No."

She looks up at him, not sure of the tone of his voice.

"Not on his own at least."

* * *

He watches the clock change from 4:32 to 4:33. One minute down, he could do this couldn't he? No. This is one thing he can't do, won't do. And because he is weak man, no longer held down by some beautiful vision, he walks to his bookcase and stands on the sturdy chair. It takes a few seconds for him to grasp the familiar shape of the metal box filled with…his savior. 

"Finally," he mutters as he sits down and opens the box, expecting to look upon his morphine bottles and needles with something close to insatiable relief. But instead, he laughs. He laughs into his rough hand and shakes his head at his awful, twisted, luck.

The post-it sticks to his thumb with a frowning face drawn in with a blunt pencil, and where his salvation should be, lies a new bottle of Ibuprofen. The clang of the box hitting the floor makes him hold his head in his hands. Damn her. How long had she known? How long had he thought he could keep secrets from her?

* * *

How long ago was it that she'd been standing right here in the dead of night just as afraid as now? Almost a year, give or take a few weeks, she thinks. It's different now, however. This time, they already are a couple, except she had betrayed him in the worst way possible...according to him. 

She knocks, her breath showing white in the cool November air, and she waits. She waits for him to answer, to yell, to do anything, but all she hears is silence from the other side.

"House? Are you okay?"

Trying the door, she's not surprised it's locked. But she is growing nervous at the thought of him lying on the floor, or in the bathtub, alone and in pain.

"House! Open up the door! Can you walk?"

A long eternity passes by and she pulls out her phone, preparing to dial Wilson's number before she tries to break down the door and probably hurting herself while trying. The jingling of her purse stops as she hears the thumps coming closer from his side. Her breath catches as she feels the door almost shake with his weight and the lock unclasp with a sound she can only think of as the shot in the grocery store.

The door cracks open with his heavy breaths and she can smell all that is him which makes her heart ache because of his obvious pain.

"Cameron…."

* * *

A/N: Oh yeah...I just stopped there! Mostly bc...I don't know what should happen lol. But it will get done! Thanks to everyone who's sticking with me and to everyone who reviews! 


	23. I never told you that you were my life

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. But it wasn't why you cared. I never told you why I lied. Nothing would ever change. I never told you that you were my life._

Standing there, the dark night almost about to give way to the overwhelming day, she finds herself, for the first time, broken by him. As he leans against the door, his face tired beyond any point, she feels herself silently falling into that realm of gray that she hates to believe in.

"Let me in, House. Please."

"Why do you want in? Just to taunt me?"

"House-."

He turns away, the door open to her, but doesn't give in to her. Let her come in if she thinks she can. Let her walk away like she has before. He limps to the bathroom, sits on the floor by the toilet, and lets the cool of the tile seep into his old and weathered body.

Months, she had nearly lived in these rooms. Taking the first step into his place, she can feel the last of her resentment fall away. She's wanted this since the beginning; she has no right to turn her back on him now.

"Did you take the Ibuprofen?"

Without saying a word, he reaches into the bathtub and casually throws the bottle to her, hearing the somewhat insulated rattle of it. Leaning against the tub, he watches her hold the pills in one hand while the other takes her bag off of her shoulder. He stares at her, wondering what he feels now. This is as close to sober he's been in a long series of months, and he expects to see her differently. He doesn't though, and that makes him sigh.

Looking down at him, she wants to hold him through the worst of this. But that's not what he wants and she's pretty sure he needs more than her loving touch to get through this. At least now she's being honest.

"Happy? I'm fine. You can leave knowing you're doing a brave and noble deed."

"House, I didn't do this-."

"Then why? Why would you ever want to see me like this?"

Anger. Anger at him because he can't trust in her. Anger at herself because she can't change him. Anger at it all because they had both known from the beginning how hopeless this was. Anger.

Anger always fades. It slowly blends into the stark background with time and age, leaving nothing but a whisper of memory and embarrassment. Time is what they can't afford to wait for. Age can't come if they won't say what needs to be said right now.

She sits on the tile, leaning against the door jam, not wanting to be any closer to him because she can't explain if she's too close.

"Can you even begin to understand why I want you clean?"

"Can you understand that I am in pain?"

"I know you are, House. I don't doubt that."

"Then why would you take the pills away?"

"There are other ways to-."

"You don't think I've tried? I _am_ a doctor and I know the treatments."

"You're killing yourself by doing this!"

"But I'm not in pain! That's the whole point."

With something close to resignation, she lowers her head, not able to tell herself she's doing the right thing anymore. For too long, she had been the naïve girl thinking good outranked evil every time. Black and white are the only colors, except she's learned enough from him to know her thoughts are nothing but ignorance covered in a white coat.

He watches her, not sure of what he sees cross her face. Having her here, even though she doesn't want to be, gives him pause. Even through the fog of pain and slight detox, he still cares about her in that term called love. Does he wish she would give him his relief? Yes. But does he admire her for standing up for what she believes in? Yes. Does he want her to break? Yes.

"I watched…my husband die, House. I watched a great man die right before my eyes, everyday. Do you know what that's like? To sit by someone and not be able to help them, or save them, but sit there and just watch something they had no control over, kill them?"

"I'm not dying."

She looks at him, forcing her gaze to hold his. She will only say this once.

"I can't do it again. No matter how much…I just can't. Do you understand that?"

"I'm _not_ dying!"

"You have every opportunity to beat this before it takes control over your liver and eventually kills you. You know what the prolonged use of Vicodin will do and I see you play roulette with it every day. You can control this, live without it, but you're too stubborn to do it. You're killing yourself willingly…and I-I _can't_ comprehend that."

Closing her eyes, she swallows, trying to tell herself this is right. This is him, his way, and she has to decide what to do. Does she follow him, even if she knows what the end will be? Does she turn away, keeping her heart somewhat intact, but never repairable?

"Cameron…what do you expect me to do? I'm missing part of my thigh muscle. I can't just make the pain disappear because I want it to and it won't go away just because I wish it would. I function only because the Vicodin keeps the pain bearable…just enough for me to get through the day. I'll know when it's too much, but right now, it's not."

Touching the tile with his bare hands, the cool making contact with warm hands suddenly feeling shaky, he wonders what he just told her. Did he just choose the pills over her? Did she just tell him she couldn't stay because she wouldn't go through this again?

She finally opens her eyes, her insides quivering at the moment when she knows everything will change for them. She can be who she is…or who she was. The decision made, she reaches into her bag and lets her fingers find the simple cylindrical shape that weighs her down. Pulling the bottle out into the light, she thinks his gaze will brighten, but they don't. For one indescribable blink, she thinks his look speaks something close to contempt...and then it's gone.

"Here," her voice breaks and she leans forward to hand them to him across the small space.

* * *

A/N:Argh...I did it again! But it was getting too long so I quit there. And before anyone goes...mad like the last chap...I'm going to say this. I _am_ a House/Cameron girl all the waaay. Nothing else at all even if TPTB like to play with my head! So, before the gunk hits the fan(and, _sighing,_ I know it will) just remember this is a story with hopefully a good ending...nothing more...nothing less.Thanks everyone. 


	24. Something I treasured above all others

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. But it wasn't why you cared. I never told you why I lied. Nothing would ever change. I never told you that you were my life. Something I treasured above all others._

The day goes by in secret glances, furtive looks, awkward touches. The week progresses in the mayhem of a diabolical case with biting remarks and sour sarcasm. A fortnight passes with everyone trying to find their footing in the wake of something they didn't even realize they had built themselves upon.

* * *

He goes home, not letting himself think about her, or think about how different it is without someone beside him. Leaning against the counter, he stares at the refrigerator intensely. There's a magnet she found one day long ago when spring met summer and they had gone to the flea market with blue tarps and metal sidings. She had been laughing so hard as she walked up to him with one hand shielding her face from the overbearing sun.

'_I found something that sums you up in one word, House.'_

'_What? Sexy? Fantabulous? Dashing? Hunky? Dreamy?'_

'_Uh, no.' She reaches into the small plastic bag and shows him the smiley face magnet with one word etched across its yellow forehead: LOSER._

'_I find that highly offensive and extremely hurtful.'_

_She shakes her head and drops it into the bag before squinting up at him again. They've been out here for two hours and she's starting to burn, but she'd forgotten sunscreen and a hat for wearing. He feels her grab his arm and begin to drag him away to the small concession building. He looks down at her, suddenly realizing that he's never been to a flea market before. Strange. And even stranger, he pulls off his skull green cap, the one she likes to make fun of, and plops it on her head so she'll quit squinting.

* * *

_

She sighs as she sits in the quiet lab. This is her place, her safe place to be honest. It had always been here, and she's not sure why. She lightly touches the cool microscope, wondering how many times she's looked into it. More times than she can count, more times than she wants to admit.

Instead of going back to her apartment, she stays here throughout the night, picking apart their latest case even though she knows she won't solve it. The bones in her lower back, pop as she straightens, and she finds something close to relief at the noise. She's growing older, becoming wiser, going somewhere. Albeit alone, but she's working towards some goal, albeit unknown. Albeit unknown, it's something she can look ahead to, albeit tired. Albeit tired, she will end up in one place, able to be proud of herself.

There are too many albeit's in her thoughts lately. She turns her head slightly to stare out of the glass doors that she always walks casually through. Clear, strong, fragile, clean, spotless. It's one in the morning, who will see her? She stands, holding her hands at her hips before finally walking forward to where door meets open space. Placing her palm on the glass, she hopes there's enough oil to smudge this perfect clearness.

* * *

The next evening, she stops outside his office, seeing him sitting at his desk, his face completely clear and without thought. He never gives anything away.

"Hey."

He looks up, almost surprised that she's walking into his space when he had already shoved her out two weeks ago.

"Hey."

"I thought you left an hour ago."

"I did." Leaning back, he shakes his head in answer before trying to read her thoughts so he knows where they can possibly stand now. "I'm just looking up more names to call Chase. You never can have too few."

It's a lie. He's here because he goes home only to realize that nothing stayed the same after she left. He's here because no matter how much of a miserable man he is, he's more miserable where memories of her still exist.

"I bought Jimmy a present for his birthday."

"Really? You think I should get one for him? Nah."

She smiles, almost hiding it behind her hand because it's become sort of a habit whenever he cracks a joke. She doesn't want to laugh at him because it means she still enjoys him, and she can't think that right now.

"How are you?"

"God, you make it sound like you haven't seen me in months."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she lets a sigh escape. This is him. She's known this since the beginning.

"I mean…with your pain."

Shrugging a shoulder, he glances at her. "Okay."

It's lie number two. He's been cutting back drastically on the Vicodin but using other pain relievers to take the edge off. There's no reason he should be in pain, but there's also no reason why he should deny the fact that what he is doing, is probably going to kill him sooner rather than later.

"Well," she nods, "that's good."

He clears his throat because he's not sure what he's supposed to say next. He knows what he wants to say, but knowing and doing are two separate actions. It's why he doesn't say anything and why he let's the silence grow between them until he feels he can't breathe.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," she whispers.

Not able to say anything, he only nods his head and she looks at him with that look that always makes him nervous. It's that look that knows he wants to say something, and it's the look that doesn't need him too. It's why, after she's left the room, and he can still feel her there, he reaches for his small white friend. This is what she hates, it's what he almost loves, it's what could kill him, but it's also gives him great relief, and this is when he will choose something that he's never chosen before. A woman.

* * *

A/N: well, finally. I just could not work out how to make it seem like two weeks by, and also show that things changed but stayed the same. anyways...Huddy...looks like it's going to happen. But I refuse...refuse!...to give up. Anyways, lol, sorry bout the wait. Thanks you guys! 


	25. I never told u that I loved you

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. But it wasn't why you cared. I never told you why I lied. Nothing would ever change. I never told you that you were my life. Something I treasured above all others. I never told you that I loved you._

_

* * *

_

A/N:This is long folks.

* * *

A love that consumes so fully never leaves a moment unscathed. Every memory is tainted with the hindsight of 20-20. Every touch still burns as if freshly created in the throes of the highest pinnacle of happiness. Every word echoes in truth and anger at what is lost forever. Every day moves without momentum, carelessly falling into the mouth of resentment and hurt. 

"Would you stop pushing all those buttons?"

"What if me pushing all these buttons gets us out of here?"

"House, you've pushed every button at least once. I mean, the technician will fix the problem and we'll be out of here in about 20 minutes."

He sighs loudly before pushing the 3rd floor button once again just to annoy her from where she stands in the small corner. Letting his cane rest beside him, he sits down carefully and pulls his backpack into his lap.

"Don't pout."

"I'm not pouting."

"Yes, you are," she smiles. It feels like a lifetime since she's seen him pout like a five year old. Dare she say she's enjoying this brief solitude with him? No, she doesn't.

Is there something he should say? No, he doesn't think so. Is there anything he can do? No, he doesn't want to. He stares at the screen on his small gameboy, wondering briefly if she'll break down and sit beside him. He doesn't need her comfort however, even though he wants it. Isn't she the one who decided that between them?

* * *

"You might as well sit down, Cameron. If I have to listen to your sigh one more time, I'm going to have your blood on my cane."

There's a pause, a small, imperceptible break, a hesitation that no one but them notice. Because it's been one month without being so close to him, she thinks it's time to face her fear. He is after all, the big bad monster of her dreams and nightmares, or is that backwards? Is she the monster?

Another five minutes pass and he hands her the gameboy. Even as her brow raises in question, her mouth doesn't move. She accepts his touch, his game, his moment of doing something she doesn't expect. Her smile as she passes stage one makes him realize how much he hasn't changed.

"Here, I died." She hands it to him, not wanting to acknowledge that she's so close to asking him to let her back in, knowing she's the one that had ruined it to begin with. So, she settles with watching his hands deftly maneuver across the small buttons and the slight frown as he concentrates.

"I'm on a Fentanyl patch…and taking Dilaudid. I only take the vicodin in the morning and night…maybe in the afternoon if it's a bad day. Damn, your turn."

He hands it to her, his fingers brushing her gentle one and she can barely think to grasp it before it almost falls from her hand. She can feel her breath even out and as she looks up at him, she wonders why. Why did he tell her? Why did he do it? Why? But her mouth won't allow her to speak. The elevator won't let her think clearly.

"What? House…."

There's no way he can look at her and so he focuses on the small panel filled with lit buttons that aren't taking them anywhere. He's been waiting to tell her until he's sure he can manage the pain, and so far, he has. Was it for her? He doesn't know. Was it for him? It could be. Was it for them? Of course it was, but he won't let her know until he knows where she stands.

"I am a doctor and know what the prolonged effects of my loving vicodin would have. Decided to kick the habit to the curb, you know, so I'd live longer. Play, it's your turn and I'm ready for you to die."

"Why?"

The single word, the single question drifts from her lips so slowly that she almost imagines she can see it waft from her mouth into the empty elevator space. She watches as something passes over his face as he finally turns his face to look at her.

"I…I'm not going to dance around this. We were together for over a year and we were doing fine. I was managing, you were managing, and then you had to go and change it all. You didn't understand what it was like and you still don't. You think you do, and I wish you'd stop that, but you're the only one…you're the only one who's cared this whole time."

"What does that mean?" she asks just a little breathy.

"It means that I've changed…in this aspect but not for you. For me. I like living."

"Since when?"

"Since I saw Pamela's-."

"Okay," she laughs. "Stop right there."

She taps the game with a finger slowly, wondering what exactly he wants from her. It can't be much she knows.

"House," she sighs slowly, trying to capture her words. "I'm not…you needed to quit taking so much vicodin. I'm not sorry that I took it away from you…or that I gave it back." This time, it's her who can't look at him. "But I'm glad you've tried something else. That's good."

This is where it ends. This is where he puts it all behind him because she's the one who walked away from him, but he doesn't. Instead, as her head subtly falls and her dark hair slips from behind her hair, he leans forward and catches that one lock. Her head turns toward him, that look of confusion and wonder dancing across her features. Sometimes, _he_ doesn't even know what he's doing. Like now. Now, he just wants her. Even after everything, he just wants her. That was something new.

"There's something I never…I never told you," he manages, mere inches from her. He can smell her light perfume mixed mostly with her soap and conditioner. He can feel the warmth of her body in all the right places lining up with his. He doesn't need anybody, that's the truth, and it's something that will always keep part of him from her, but it's not everything.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stay," she whispers. "I walked away from you because I'm not strong enough, not even for you." She wants to reach for his face, but she can't break what's building between them. This is it. This is where it ends, and she wants no part of it.

Is this why he's been hating her so much? He thought it was, but staring at her now, so close to her expressive eyes, he's not so sure. Pushing people away is what he's good at, not her. But she had pushed him away before he could do it to her. She'd beat him to the punch. Isn't that why he's bitter? But where did she learn it? Probably from him, or maybe it was lying within her all along and he was its escape.

"Cameron-."

The loud ding of the elevator reverberates through their bodies as each looks to the doors and sigh as the elevator begins to move with a jolt, reminding them that where they are, isn't with each other. They're always moving, one floor at a time, never stopping on the same one, barely missing each other.

The doors open on the 2nd floor and he's the first to let go of her hair and grab his backpack. He stands and realizes she's holding the game in an outstretched arm. Her face, almost broken just moments before, takes on the look of a woman who has placed her priorities in a flash. She is at work. She is his employee. She is…not his lover anymore.

As the doors begin to close again, he reaches his cane out and they spring back. The gameboy in one hand, he doesn't deny himself one last action that he's sure he shouldn't do. Without thinking of stopping himself, he steps forward to her, waiting until he can hear the sharp intake of breath and feel her chest start to rise against his. This is it, right? Then let it end the way he wants it to, with a kiss.

She can't remember the last time he'd kissed her like this, maybe never, maybe two months ago. It doesn't matter. His lips crush hers, demanding more of her than she thought she'd ever want to give. Her lips answer to his by adding more pressure because she wishes she could take it all back, but not knowing if she would if it were possible. She can't breathe. She can't think. She can't stop.

He breaks from her, his breath quicker than he thought it would be. He can see the confusion on her face, the fear that mirrors his own, the wish that hides because she doesn't want him to see it, but he does. It's almost more than he can take, reinforcing the fact that he still feels something for her even though he should let her live without him and he shouldn't care.

"H-House?"

There's nothing he can say. He can't explain it and he doesn't want to. In that split instant, he makes up his mind. He's been closed off to everyone for so long, and she's been the only one besides Wilson who's tried to touch him. So what if she hurt him? He did hurt her. So what if she left him? He'd never even been all the way there with her. So what if they had ended it? That didn't mean it was over between them.

"Move in with me, this evening." He waits for her answer, unsure if he's done the right thing. He wants her and this is the only way he can think of getting her. If she rejects him, then he'll know. If she doesn't…. But she doesn't say anything. Her jaw drops but that's it for the longest ten seconds of his life.

"Do you- do you really want me to?"

"I asked didn't I?"

The doors threaten to close again and he uses his cane to halt them even as two people stand waiting for him to get out of the way.

She knows there are questions she should ask, but he's just asked her a question that means everything. He's put aside his bitterness and gotten over his fear of being with someone. And he wants her. He wants her. He hasn't said it, but a year with him has taught her to catch the slight subtleness of who he is. This is big. Huge. And it's time to quit being stupid. It's time for them both being afraid, to end.

"Okay."

* * *

A/N: So I hope you guys read this super long chap. Sorry for the length but I just had to cram it all here for some reason. And I know it's been awhile. I just wasn't sure how to get over the hump of writer's block...and study for last finals tomorrow, er, actually today. But there's what, 2 more? 3 more? chaps. Well at least it's finally getting done! lol. anyways, again, apologies for taking so long and using such a cliche of the elevator, but, eh. Thanks guys. 


	26. You, and no one else

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. But it wasn't why you cared. I never told you why I lied. Nothing would ever change. I never told you that you were my life. Something I treasured above all others. I never told you that I loved you. You, and no one else._

He bites into his peanut butter sandwich carefully, studying her as she brings one of the last bags into the messy living room. Awkwardly, she straightens and looks at him from beside the sofa. She wants him to explain but he doesn't want to tell her. Has he ever? Instead, because he's a coward still, he raises a sandwich.

For a brief moment, she thinks she can find the strength to ask him why he wants her to move in. He beats her to it however as he raises his hand full of bread and peanut butter. She's not sure why she feels relief, but she does in any case. Things can remain light for just a few more minutes.

"No jelly?"

"Peanut butter and jelly together is an abomination.

"No, it's not," she replies through sticky lips.

"In my home it is."

"So, it's a jelly-free zone? I wish I'd have known that before I moved in."

"Not a _no_ jelly zone, just a no PB&J zone."

Watching her shake her head, he can only wish for this to be the deepest talk they have tonight. To be honest, he's not sure he can even believe that he had asked her mere hours ago to move in. A moment of pure weakness in his mind, leaves him almost at peace with her as they stand here in the kitchen.

She lays the last few bites down, firmly convinced that she has to know. After all they've been through, she needs to understand now to save them both.

"House, I have to ask."

"No, you could just keep your mouth closed."

"Why do this?"

"A better time for questions was probably _before_ you answered me."

"I'm not going anywhere. I just want to know."

A glass of cold milk instead of cool bourbon meets his lips. Whether it's because he's genuinely thirsty or just stalling, is anyone's guess, especially his. He wipes the beads of chilly condensation from the cup that gathered upon his hand, across his pant leg, never glancing up.

"What do you want to hear?"

She blinks and leans back. "A lie," she says simply into air that refuses to let her go free. The answer startles her as much as it does him. But as she leans forward on the counter, she realizes it's the truth. "I want to hear you say that you love me. That life without me was boring, hard, cold. I want to know that you didn't sleep well and when you did, you dreamt of me. But I know all that's a lie."

Her candor makes him mimic her stance and he braces himself on the same countertop she'd once covered in flour.

"Then what's the point in asking?"

"Because I do love you. And I didn't sleep well, plus I was always thinking about some stupid thing you said or did. And I need to know that it mattered, that _I_ mattered to you."

"Don't you think if you didn't matter, I wouldn't have wanted you here with me?"

"Then why now?"

"I had to do it on my own!"

The grip he has on the countertop suddenly registers in his mind and he immediately relaxes the grasp his fingers hold on it. She wants to know, then fine, he'll give it to her.

"You always thought I'd done something to myself. I was a junkie in your eyes, but I don't think that's what I was. Still, leaving me was probably the best thing you could have done for me, Cameron. Now you don't have a reason to think I'm a bad person other than the fact that I am one. And I don't have to excuse myself because you think I've done something wrong. Well, except at work and trust me, that's not going to happen."

Of all the things she'd been steeling herself against, it isn't this. It isn't the confession that had been playing through her mind that's made her stomach dance or her fingers tingle. And that's the biggest relief she's felt in a long time. He cleaned himself up, managed his pain the best way he could, for her. To show her. That's enough, isn't it?

It is. She looks at him intently, thinking she'll say something because he's just had an outburst, but she doesn't. They've talked enough and they won't need to talk about this again. That's fine. She nods her head slightly and picks up the last bit of her sandwich finally finding something that is beginning to satisfy her hunger.

"Okay."

"Okay?" He asks cautiously.

"Okay."

* * *

"It's just-." 

"Ssshhh!"

"I can't-."

"Nope."

"You won't-."

"Not right now."

"House-."

"Hush, Cameron."

She closes her eyes and pretends to stifle a loud sigh against his shoulder.

"When-."

"What part of sleep do you not understand? I have to work in the morning…afternoon."

"I just need to say one thing and I'll shut up."

At his silence she looks up and realizes his eyes are closed. With her hand she raises one of his eyelids.

"What?"

"You didn't _ask _me to move in. You told me to."

He tries to stop his smile but knows he's failing. So, he grabs her hand away from his eye and brings it down to his chest while closing his eyes again.

"Took you long enough to realize it."

* * *

A/N: Hey! everybody, sorry for the long wait...again. But only 2 more to go and I definitely know where I'm going so it should be done pretty fast. Anyways, passed all my finals. It's summer but everything's still hectic. But I'm going to be wrapping this up within the week. So, to everyone, thanks for keeping up with me, staying with this story, reviewing, messaging, and I hope you like. Thanks! 


	27. I never told you any of these things

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. But it wasn't why you cared. I never told you why I lied. Nothing would ever change. I never told you that you were my life. Something I treasured above all others. I never told you that I love you. You, and no one else. I never told you any of these things. _

"So…you're back together?"

"Yes," she replies simply at Chase's befuddled face.

"But you two were just…not together."

"He asked me to move in last night. I said yes. We're together."

* * *

"So you're together again?"

"Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?"

Foreman raises his eyebrows over the microscope. "Because House is House and you've spent the last two months almost…moping-."

"I never moped."

"Fine, but you weren't exactly happy either."

"And you always are?"

"I'm just saying it's a surprise."

* * *

"So are you and Cameron back together?"

He stops midstride, almost thinking he can make a dash for the men's room before her heels resound smartly in his ears.

"How do you know?"

"Chase made a comment earlier when I asked where you were. So, are you?"

"I forget. Am I what? A zebra? Yes, I've been trying to hide it with concealer but I guess it's not working."

"Are you and Cameron dating again?"

"If I tell you will you let me out of clinic duty for the week?"

"House, I'm not-."

"We are. Told her to move in last night."

As her jaw drops, he can't help but wonder why it should be so shocking, but then again, he has to make his get-a-way.

* * *

"Why did I have to hear from Cuddy that you and Cameron supposedly are living together?"

"What?"

"Exactly!" Wilson props hands strongly on his hips under his white coat as he waits in front of House's desk. "I don't believe it though."

"Why not?"

"You'd never ask her to move in."

"How do you know, oh omniscient Jimmy?"

"I just _know_ you couldn't do that."

"You're just mad I didn't tell you first."

"Well, I admit, a little warning would have been good to hear if you had asked her to move in. I mean, it would've been my time to gloat-."

"You know what?" He pauses as he leans back in his chair, cutting Wilson off from his ramblings. "Actually, you're right. I didn't ask her to move in."

"So you really-."

"I asked her to marry me."

* * *

"Why doesn't anyone believe us?"

He pops open a bag of chips, disregarding her frown at the loud bang shooting across the cafeteria and garnering stares and shakes of heads.

"I don't know. Don't care either."

"They're all staring at us."

"So?"

"And Wilson's been acting strange around me all day. He keeps opening his mouth and then shutting it before looking away. Why are you smiling?"

"What? I don't smile."

"You were," she frowns.

"No, I wasn't."

"Did you-what did you do?"

"Why would you think I did something?"

"House, what did you do?"

"Nothing!"

* * *

"You did _not_ tell Wilson we're engaged!"

"Whoa! I don't think my right ear drum ruptured, yell it again."

She grabs his backpack strap and pulls him to the wall out of the way of wandering people. "Did you tell Wilson we're getting married?"

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know." She raises her hands. "To torment me. No, to torment him. That's why, isn't it?"

"I'd never be that cruel to Jimmy."

The smirk that crosses her lips makes him want to kiss her.

"House, you can't-."

"Come on, let's go."

"What? Where?"

"Let's mosey on. Run off into the sunset to my bedroom and never return."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"For one, we're in 2007 New Jersey, not 1884Texas. Secondly, because of your complete apathy for case files, we have to go back and work the files to turn into Cuddy."

"The boys can handle it."

"That's not fair to them."

"So?"

She shakes her hand and pulls him forward by the shoulder strap. "Go home, House."

* * *

It's about balance. It's keeping everything in sync, controlled, and more importantly, from crashing to the ground. Opening the door with bag and mail in one hand and the other holding boxes of Chinese takeout, she thinks fleetingly of leaving her keys in the door. But no, she has her balance, the weight of burdens in her hands, equal.

"Honey, I'm home!"

With a distracted smile, she wonders what he'll say to that after he'd told her specifically told her not to say it. Not even paying attention, she manages to close the door and turn around, seeing for the first time.

She'd forgotten it could end like this. In all the commotion of the past day, there must have been a breaking point. This is where he ends though, lying on the cool floor, alone, unbreathing.

The weight shifts, balance faltering.


	28. Because you were all I had

_I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake. I never told you that I hear you. Even when you're not even near. I never told you that I hate you. It was something you could already feel. I never told you how much you disappointed me. Every time you turned around. I never told you because we had so much time. And then it came too soon. I never told you because I was afraid. Never would I have thought you were too. I never told you why I stayed. But then again, neither did you. I never told you why I cry. But you already knew. I never told you that my heart broke. But it wasn't why you cared. I never told you why I lied. Nothing would ever change. I never told you that you were my life. Something I treasured above all others. I never told you that I loved you. You, and no one else. I never told you any of these things. Because you were all I had._

They should never have even been together this long. She knows it. House knows it. Living on what could be borrowed time, never was her strong point. This isn't so hard, though. Shouldn't that make her sad to some extent?

As she drops her bag onto the bed, her eye catches the soft white paper lying drowsily on its side on the floor. Her hands pick it up carelessly, almost cold-like, and she sits on the edge of the lonely bed still made. She reads each word, not realizing at first how much everything hides behind small and simple letters. This is him. This is her. Every sentence is something about him, something that could easily about her, something about them both.

A tear begins to form without her noticing it, wondering how he could write this without letting her know. Is he still that afraid of her? It's a simple poem, filled with truth, riddled with fear, pieced together with regret, and held together by nothing.

She doesn't hear the uneven footsteps and the unmistakable sound that will always seem to follow her, or for her to follow. She doesn't hear the sharp intake of breath of someone embarrassed and pained. She doesn't hear at all.

He watches as she suddenly raises her head, letting her hands release precious cargo that falls almost dreamily to his bare feet. Intending to bend down and regain possession of it, a sense of deja-vu overcomes him. But he's a man who doesn't believe in that sensation, and he's a man who's forgotten a dream from so long ago. He shakes the feeling off, attributing it to humiliation or something of the kind.

"What'd you do with him?"

"Threw him away."

"What?" She stands, wanting to know how he feels.

"He's just a rat, Cameron. What'd you expect?"

"He was Steve McQueen to you, House. It's alright to feel upset."

"No, _Steve_ _McQueen_ was Steve McQueen to me. And I'm not upset. He's an animal, animals die. Though with you around I'm sure he thought he'd live forever."

She wants to fold her arms, decides against it, and instead places her thumbs into her pockets. What can she say? She'd grown to like the rat, though not as much as she'd loved her own dog nearly fifteen years ago. But her mind no longer rests upon their dead rat, her mind lingers on that piece of paper he's folded up and put in his pocket.

"House…" Can she approach it? "Did you write that?"

There's an image come to mind as she asks him that. The mouse with the cheese cringing against the corner, back to the wall, with murderous cat ready to pounce on easy prey. He'll be damned if he's prey.

"Steve's funeral. Thought I'd write up a eulogy for the old bat…rat. I'm so good at rhyming."

"You didn't even know he was dead until five minutes ago."

"What can I say? I am brilliantly brilliant and quickly quick."

He turns around, limping his way back toward the kitchen, trying to find some way to make her forget what she'd just read. How could he have been stupid enough to just leave it by the bed? He can hear her sock covered feet slowly making way across the strong floor. The small hairs on the back of his neck rise in response to the inevitability of what will come.

"We're not talking about it."

"About what?"

Glancing up, he pulls his cup closer to him. "You know what."

Of course she knows. He wants to let go of the poem. He wants her to forget that she'd read what he'd written. How can she however, when it means forgetting what they've trudged through?

So, she doesn't. She feels along the edge of the island counter until she's standing beside his still tense body. Carefully, she props herself onto the counter, forcing him to finally have to look up to her. Being with him for so long, she knows she has to give before she can take.

Softly, "House, I'm going to tell you why I stayed."

For a moment, he's not sure what she's talking about. She's decided to stay with him more than once, so how can he pinpoint one? Her hand lightly fingering the tips of his hair, he simply says nothing while making sure his own right hand stays the scant inch away from her thigh.

"Stacy was your true love and you know it." She looks down at him, wishing she could see his thoughts behind clear blue eyes. "I don't believe in true love, but I do believe in real love. I came back because I already know what true love feels like. Not real love, though."

Tension rises as they each look at the other, wondering what's true and what's not. For as long as they've been together, this is what it usually comes down to. Fact v. fiction.

"That's," he pauses to shake his head. "A load of crap."

She can't help but laugh sharply because maybe he's right. Then again, she knows he's not.

"You're not always right."

"I'm never wrong," he replies as he somewhat drags her across the counter so that he stands casually between her legs. It's an intimate position, one he barely allows himself because it leaves him mostly on one leg and her on none.

"I'm telling the truth, House."

"Yeah," he sighs, "you always are."

"You wrote that."

"I did."

"I think it's nice."

"I think it's trying to hard."

"No…but I think it's broken."

"I know I'm going to regret this, but why?"

"It's not finished."

"It's finished."

"I don't think so."

"Well, so?"

"Will you let me see it?"

Hesitation never runs through him at work, but when he's with her, it's all he can do. He's not the same man he was over a year ago though. This is why he pulls the paper out of his pocket, and it's why he gives it to her, and only her.

Reaching over for a pencil lying distractedly beside the napkins, she writes one simple sentence at the end before handing the now wrinkled sheet to him.

He reads the print so different from his own, reminded that not everything is about him anymore.

_I never told you until now. _

"You know…I really do hate you sometimes."

She nods her head and leans closer to him. "You know you love me."

"No, I hate you."

"I love you."

"I hate you."

"I love you."

"I hate you."

"Well, I hate you too."

"I love you."

This is the truth. This is him proving himself wrong when he'd told her long ago that they would never weather the storm. And for once, he could care less.

.end.

* * *

A/N: There! We're done! Well, I had to keep y'all on your toes with the last chap. I'm evil like that I suppose. But now you know...it was Steve. Hated to kill him, but it had to come. Anyways, sorry for the lateness. After Tuesday's finale, I kinda just...lost my wind there for a while. Thanks to everybody for reading. Hope you enjoyed this behemoth...story. Thanks. 


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